The Great Fell
by DianaLecter
Summary: A parody of The Great Gatsby. Alternate universe fic. Goes way off novel canon toward the end.
1. Lunch

It was a hot day when he moved in, signifying the beginning of a dreadfully long summer

It was a hot day when he moved in, signifying the beginning of a dreadfully long summer.

At the time, he thought it was by chance that he should have rented a house in one of the so-called strangest communities of North America.There were things to note about the location, things that seemed important at the time, things he overlooked at first glance.It was a slender island that extended east of New York, hosting, among other natural curiosities, two atypical configurations of land.

This was twenty miles from the city.Two enormous eggs, identical in form and distanced only by a courtesy bay, extended into the most cultivated body of salt water in the Western hemisphere.

Being one of marginal wealth, rather than lavish, Jack Crawford found residence at West Egg, the less fashionable of the two.The house itself was quaint and homey, located directly at the tip of the egg.Crawford managed to ignore the temptation to complain about the weather, it bearing no real handicap on his moving arrangements.In life, he knew the fewer faults he found with things he could not control, the better he could enjoy himself.

Given the opportunity to be here was one of his greater joys.Crawford had intended to get away for some time, and while it remained true that he was far from the outskirts of decent refinement, or even the crowd that seemed to popularize at East Egg, he was satisfied, perhaps even happy.

Once the job of unpacking his belongings into the bedroom his claimed for himself was complete, Crawford meandered to the deck of his new summer residence – a trial home, really, to see if he liked the place – and gazed onto the bay.The water seemed to smile at him, as unaffected by the sun as he was.It extended to the land at the other side – East Egg – where the mansions of the rich and sometimes famous gloated their chauvinistic wealth.

Crawford found no reason to snarl.In the comings of his life, he had no desire to be rich.As long as the number in his bank account was suitable for all those needed luxuries, he was satisfied.

This wasn't, of course, to say that the houses of West Egg had reason to cower, or even envy their neighbors.Having indulged himself in a pleasant drive through either egg, Crawford knew the trophy to most elegant and undoubtedly expensive home went to his very neighbor, a man he knew by name but not face.

Those in town called him Fell.They didn't address him by any other name.Therefore, Crawford's knowledge of his neighbor remained rather abbreviated, and he found it would be too intrusive to implore.Perhaps sometime he would venture beyond the border and introduce himself, perhaps not.

As for today, he had promised his second cousin, twice removed, that he would visit.It would be the first time to see her since she married.Once upon a time ago, they worked side by side in the FBI, but her apprehension of Buffalo Bill succeeded in granting her much prosperity.

This was over five years ago.Not once had Crawford seen her since she left the FBI to 'settle down.'She lived at East Egg in a rather extravagant manor that he saw on his exploratory drive.It was lovely and impressive, falling second only to his neighbor's.

That forced Crawford again to turn his gaze to the Fell Manor, and he marveled at the expensive lighting structure.There were several vans in the doorway, people running in and out with boxes of lights, food, and chairs.Before moving in, he had heard that Fell was rather notorious for his phenomenal parties that tended to occur each weekend, but Crawford was the sort of fellow that never believed anything until he saw it.

Mindful of the clock, he finished scrutinizing the bay with the knowledge there would be plenty of time for all sorts later.With that, he retreated indoors and flipped off the lights.Making sure everything was in place, Crawford nodded his confirmation before moving outside.

Crawford's car was modest but nice.Nothing anyone would envy, but he found its company to be enjoyable and decided he wanted no more.

The drive was short but pleasant.His eyes consumed everything, as the scenery was breathtaking, something he hoped never to tire of.After sacrificing so many years to busywork, Crawford was determined to enjoy this time he had off.However, he did not frown when he arrived.Despite everything, he was eager to see Starling again.

_No, not Starling,_ he had to remind himself._Not anymore._

_ _

Outside waited the man he assumed to be his cousin's husband.Crawford smiled tightly to himself and wiggled out of the seat.Smiling, he nodded."Paul Krendler, I presume?"

"You must be Clarice's cousin.Jack?"

"Yes."They shook hands like old friends.Crawford decided almost immediately that there was something he didn't like about Krendler.Something in his eyes, a dark, untrusting gaze.

He was a greedy man.

"Clarice has been waiting for you," Krendler announced, turning to motion for the door."She's very excited when you accepted her invitation."

"I was glad to," Crawford answered as he stepped inside.He was instantly blasted with a foray of cool air.The rich, notably, had more reliable air conditioners.The voice behind him informed where he could find the girls, and Crawford paced forward at his own inhibition.

There were two ladies in the parlor; both sprawled on identical, parallel couches.The eldest of the two was an unfamiliar face, though Crawford's eyes immediately acknowledged the appreciation for her deceptive beauty.

The other girl was Clarice.Crawford had refrained from looking to her at first for he wanted to savor the happiness in her eyes.It was a mutual feeling.

Indeed, he was not disappointed.Clarice was smiling profusely, her flightiness visible through all the contours of her face.With an excited laugh, she jumped up."Jack!" she exclaimed pleasantly."I'm so glad you could make it."

Crawford returned her smile and stepped forward.Likewise, his cousin approached to embrace him.

When he could see her eyes more vividly, Crawford bit back his frown.There was sadness in her, great sadness that she hid well.This was not the Starling – Clarice – that left Quantico five years earlier.In their years working side by side, he had grown accustomed to reading her, or at least attempting to do so, when she refrained from verbally expressing her feelings.This look was one he associated with firm distaste.

Even though he had only stood there a few minutes, Crawford knew he had not seen her eyes in the same set for so long in their entire acquaintance.It took two seconds for him to register her unhappiness, though he made well to respectfully keep it from sight.

Her embrace was warm and welcoming, and from her reluctance to let go, he knew how truly happy she was to see him.

"How are things at Quantico?" she asked once she released him.

He told her how the others wished her well.He didn't tell her how they said it.With that certain bitterness that instantly displayed their jealousy, and the inability to comprehend why a woman beat them to it.

"Do they miss me?" she asked.There was a knowing teasing-tone to her voice.

They both knew the answer.Crawford decided to play anyway.

"The whole place is desolate," he kidded."If you look at the parking lot, the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and there's a persistent night wail for those stuck with the later shifts."

Clarice snickered and rolled her eyes."What a picture you paint, Jack.Paul!"She called over his shoulder."Paul, let's go back tomorrow!"

There was a mild grumble in reply as Krendler approached, showing some interest in Crawford at last.He decided to eye this man who was his cousin-in-law, and get to know the person beneath.

"What do you do, Jack?"

"I thought Clarice told you…I—"

"Oh yeah. The FBI."

"Yes."

"Do you plan to stay here long?"

Crawford's eyes averted to Clarice, only again to register her pain."It depends.I am able to retire whenever it is convenient for me."

"Are you boys going to discuss business all afternoon?" demanded a lazy voice from the sofa.All eyes were immediately drawn to the reclining woman that Crawford had still not made his introduction."It's so boring!Besides, it's summer!"With that, she kicked her legs over the side and fought to her feet.Once satisfied, she audaciously paraded to Crawford and extended a hand."Ardelia Mapp.How do you do?"

He smiled thinly."Jack Crawford.Pleased to meet you."

Ardelia was a lively creature, and not as hard to read as Clarice.Glancing over her once, he registered her as a lively, flamboyant character who would go to great lengths to keep from being bored.

"Charmed," she said with mild interest."Hmmm…you live at West Egg, correct?"

He nodded."That's right."

"I know somebody there."

"I don't know a single person," Crawford admitted sheepishly."After all, I just moved in."

With a chortle, Ardelia arched an unbelieving brow."Is that so?You must know Dr. Fell."

Clarice, whom had only seemed mildly interested in the conversation, suddenly shot to life from whatever world of her own she currently occupied.Curiously, Crawford frowned and looked to her, alarmed when he couldn't read her eyes.

"Dr. Fell?" she demanded."What Dr. Fell?"

But he never got the chance to answer.One of the hired servants interrupted to announce that lunch was ready.Clarice locked eyes with Crawford but refused to expand on the topic.

The pleasantries were moved to the terrace where a table sat, prepared with delectables, the food of rich snobs who had their shopping done for them.None of this rang classic Starling – erm, Clarice – to him.It didn't take much to conclude this was not her table, or that she had any interest in making it so.

Crawford wondered for a minute if she had ever taken Krendler's last name.He couldn't seem to remember, but his mind weighed toward no.For some reason, he couldn't see it.Clarice Krendler.It didn't work.

Conversation did not resume until they were all promptly seated and served with a few beers.The beverage choice made sitting at the nice table seem like a cliché.Crawford properly folded his napkin into his lap, casting his eyes to the bay.There they lingered as he studied the dock.From across the way, he could see his quaint house, and smiled at the sight.Standing neighborly next to it was the Fell Manor.

At that, Crawford thought to bring it up once more, but found in his daydreaming that he had missed the first part of the continued dialogue.Krendler was discussing a book he read, and glaring when Clarice suggested it had pictures in it.

"I'm sorry," she apologized without sorrow a full minute later."I just remember what an avid fan you were of 'Go Dog Go.'"

There was something in Krendler's eyes that Crawford didn't like.The man lurched forward as if to slap her, or at least get in her face over the issue, but he was interrupted when their butler approached and whispered something into his ear.An immediate change came over Krendler.He nodded his understanding and climbed to his feet, excusing himself before hurrying off.

Clarice let out a snicker when he left.When her eyes returned to Crawford, they were smiling, though still in that dreary state he recognized in the parlor."It's so good to see you here, Jack," she said warmly, authentically."I love having you at my table."

Before Crawford could reply, or even thank her for the compliment, Clarice stood and muttered something about unfinished business, and hurried off.

He found himself alone with the charming Miss Mapp.Perhaps now it was best to ask about Fell, whom she appeared to know.After all, he didn't want to risk the conversation to have an adverse affect on Clarice, especially with the look she gave him at mention of the name.

But discussion was the last thing Ardelia wanted.Such was evident by her face.Her head was crooned, ear extended as though listening for something.There were muffled voices emitting from inside.An argument, undoubtedly.

This woman had no shame.Crawford decided to ask anyway.

"This Dr. Fell you spoke of is my neighbor," he announced.His mouth was open to continue, but Ardelia shot him a dangerous look.

"Shhh…don't talk," she commanded, raising a finger to her lips in illustration of her request."I want to hear what happens."

Crawford blinked his ignorance."Is something happening?"

That drew her attention from the blooming bickering within the house.Astonished, she turned to him."You mean you don't know?I thought everybody knew."

Innocently, he shook his head."I don't."

"Well…Paul's got some woman in New York."

"Got some woman?" Crawford repeated blankly.

Ardelia nodded."She might have the decency not to call him while we're having lunch.Don't you think?"

But he couldn't answer.Krendler and Clarice were back.

Lunch resumed pleasantly, though there was an awkward air to things.Even more so than before.No mention of the phone call was made.It was an unspoken understanding.

***

It was nearly dark when Crawford decided to return to West Egg.He walked with Clarice to Ardelia's room.He understood she was staying there for a few days, perhaps the summer, if only to keep her friend company.

Conversation with the two was nice though censored.Crawford was tempted to mention Dr. Fell, just to get a rise from Clarice, to try to distinguish what he saw in her eyes.It felt allowed now, knowing Krendler's interests lay in someone else's bed.

"You seeing anyone, Jack?" Clarice asked as they walked away from the closed guest chamber."I can't seem to remember if you were an active bachelor, back in Washington."

"Not at the moment."This was true.

"Fantastic.I think I'll arrange you a marriage then," she said, her tone light and kidding."You and Ardelia, hmm?Come over often, Jack, and I'll sort of—oh—fling you together.You know—lock you accidentally in the linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat."

Crawford chuckled."That's not necessary."

With a sad smile, Clarice offered her arm to talk him to his car."Really, Jack.You need to get more fun out of life."That seemed to pain her, and her lower lip quivered slightly as she relinquished her embrace.He thought she might comment further, but she did not.

Crawford did not see Krendler before he left, nor did he care to.The drive home was short but pleasant, and he enjoyed the night playing over the bay.

When he arrived home, Crawford turned to look across the water that separated him from his cousin, and he smiled softly.It pained him to see Clarice trapped in an institution that didn't love her back, and he wondered briefly how her life might have differed, should she have stayed with the Bureau after apprehending Jame Gumb.

There was a life there for her, and yet she had this one.

Sighing, Crawford pivoted to turn in for the night.He could not help his curious eyes from glancing to the Fell Manor, and he stopped shortly to see a man standing in perfect stillness on his lawn.From the stature of his pose and the noted expense of his clothing, Crawford knew immediately it was Dr. Fell. For a minute, he simply stood there, wondering if his neighbor was out to determine what was his of their local plain.

A beat or two of silence passed, and no movement came from either side.Hesitantly, Crawford decided to call to him.After all, Ardelia Mapp had mentioned him earlier, and that would do for an introduction.But when he opened his mouth, he felt the will to speak drown.The man on the lawn seemed content in his solitude, undisturbed and wishing to remain that way.

He was staring intently across the bay.With some measure of curiosity, Crawford turned his eyes in the direction of East Egg.He distinguished nothing that hadn't been there before, except a single green light, flickering on and off against the night, that might have been at the end of a dock.

When Crawford looked again to Dr. Fell, he was not there.Once more, he was alone in the unquiet darkness.

***


	2. To Town

It was a hot day when he moved in, signifying the beginning of a dreadfully long summer

The next day, Paul Krendler phoned Crawford around 9:30 in the morning to invite him on a short day trip into down.Evidently, he had some business to tend, and Clarice had suggested that her cousin might enjoy getting away for the afternoon.Though nothing deeper was spoken into the message, Crawford speculated that it might be a reason for herself and Mapp to chat alone.

Also, he suspected that Krendler wanted to show off his mistress.

Crawford found this somewhat frustrating.While it remained true that he was humanly curious about the woman that drew the man to strive to be unfaithful, he had no desire to meet her.It felt too much like treachery to Clarice, someone he regarded in a much more esteemed opinion than Krendler, in any retrospect.

However, his personal views on the matter were not considered, or even asked.Krendler was by at ten o'clock to pick him up.A half hour later, they pulled up to a gas station, reportedly to fill the car.

Crawford noted immediately that they had a good half tank.This was an unnecessary stop.

"We're getting off," Krendler announced."I want you to meet my girl."

The lack of secrecy, or the need for it, was astonishing in any aspect. 

With a simple shrug, he nodded his agreement and stepped out of the car.He followed Krendler inside.It was a small place, locally owned, and thus in rather poor condition.Though it lacked the finer luxuries, Crawford was somewhat happy to see a place for the working-class-citizen of this town.Perhaps one of the only businesses not overrun by a chain company.Dismally, he wondered how long it would take before it conformed to the more plausible Get-N-Go.

Inside was a younger looking man, perhaps only by a few years.Crawford studied him narrowly, finding his profile rather familiar.However, before he could draw any sort of conclusion, Krendler approached and gave him a friendly slap across the back that seemed to startle more than greet.

"Heya, Noble.How's business?"He turned briefly to Crawford and nodded his uninterested acknowledgement."Oh…sorry.Jack Crawford, this is Noble Pilcher.Noble, Jack Crawford."

Crawford nodded and started to speak, but words drown into a cough instead.

"I can't complain," came the unconvincing reply that promptly ignored the newcomer in front of him."When are you going to sell me that car?"

"Next week.Promise.Got someone taking care of it now.As we speak."

There was an air of dishonesty from Krendler that Crawford thought best to ignore.

Likewise, Pilcher was visibly in need of more reliable reassurance."Whoever it is ain't in too much of a hurry, is he?"

"No." Krendler's tone was cold and threatening, and Crawford was beginning to see how the rich did business.Bossing the all-American workingman around.And, by similar realization, he found his distaste for this man growing.

"And if you feel that way about it," continued Krendler, "maybe I'd better sell it somewhere else after all."

Panic spread across Pilcher's face, and he stuttered to make rapid amends."I didn't mean that…" he said quickly."I just—"

But no one was listening any longer.There were footsteps coming from overhead, and soon, the light of the office door was smoldered with the silhouette of an unanticipated guest.The toss of dialogue between Krendler and Pilcher had caused Crawford to forget the ulterior motive of their stop.

The woman in the door was not stunningly beautiful, but notably vivacious.There was something about her character that could attract nearly any man, Crawford decided.She looked like the type of gal who wanted to have fun.

Nevertheless, when he saw her, Crawford felt a stab of pity for Clarice.This was her unspoken competition?He allowed himself to wonder if she had any real knowledge of the affair, and if that was the cause of her greater rooted sadness.However, something forewarned him it wasn't quite that simple.

The woman smiled lusciously and paraded directly to Krendler, passing her husband as though he were a ghost.

Once satisfactorily at his side, she turned and narrowed her eyes to Pilcher."Get some chairs so these people can sit down," she ordered.Crawford immediately detected the command in her voice, the absence of the civil request.The lack of commonly disregarded but pleasant manners annoyed him.

He could see why these two liked each other.

Pilcher, on the other hand, either ignored or didn't notice the innuendo in her voice.It seemed perfectly obvious to Crawford that she was just trying to get him out of the room, but that could have been for his more attuned knowledge on the current proceedings.

Once the second half of the marital pair had exited the room, Krendler and the woman drew nearer still.Crawford watched with mild interest, aware of his looming conscience and how he could hope to keep quiet around Clarice.He knew he would have to, if only to preserve the peace this summer.

It was more than obvious that it was not Krendler's intention to introduce him to her.This wasn't about introductions.He was showing her off, yes, daring him to tell his cousin.And it was lust.He simply wanted to be here, regardless of whose company he found himself in.

"I want to see you," Krendler remarked intently."Meet us in town."

"All right."

There seemed no need for clarification of where.Obviously, these meetings were not a unique occurrence.

They left started for the exit as Pilcher reentered the office with chairs.Crawford felt a small, nagging obligation to apologize for the abrupt leave, but one look from Krendler convinced him to forget it.

They left without buying gas.

There was no discussion of adultery in the car.It seemed as though the most natural phenomenon in the world.

"Terrible place, isn't it?" Krendler asked.The implication in his tone was enough to decide what was being referred to.

"Awful."This was true.Though his pride for the workingman was steadfast, that particular business could stand for some tidying.

"It does her good to get away."

Crawford couldn't help it.The question left his mouth with no remorse, as though it had a freewill of its own."Doesn't her husband object?"

"Noble?He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York.He's so dumb he doesn't know he's alive."

They met Krendler's girl outside the Macy's department store.She was standing in rather extravagant clothing at a newsstand. No longer did she have the shabby appearance of a workingman's wife.Rather, she fit the imagery the title 'mistress' brought to mind.Lavish and flashy, not the type of girl with any intention of formally settling down.

In her hand, she clutched a copy of the _Town Tattle, _a minibranched version of the _National Tattler, _adopted by New York citizens as for odd happenings right there in the city.

Lord knew there were enough.

Krendler and Mrs. Pilcher embraced and shared a kiss.

"Oh, Jack, I'm sorry.This is Gracie.Gracie, this is Jack Crawford."

The woman now identified as Gracie nodded her acknowledgement to Crawford."How do you do?" she asked, as though trying to imitate some version of dignified.

"Very well," Crawford answered."And yourself?"

But neither was paying attention.They were walking down the street, now, arms linked.

Crawford took a few minutes to admire the scenery.Living in Washington was a pleasant alternative to the Big Apple, but he was eager to note the cultural difference, as he could honestly say that held some sort of fascination with him.Though he had been here a time or two, it was never without a job to do, some tireless, tedious task to perform.

However, he had to remember he was with company.They had not been walking long when Gracie stopped abruptly in front of a man selling new pups of mixed breeds to willing passers.

"I want one of those dogs," she announced in a very New York accent, something Crawford had missed upon listening to her speak before."One for the apartment, you know?They're nice to have—a dog."

They turned simultaneously to the man.Crawford was beginning to understand that Gracie was a woman you didn't say no to, even if you didn't like her too much.Like Krendler and Pilcher before him, he seemed helpless to do anything but what she asked of him, even if that was to dance naked down the streets of Manhattan.

"What kind are they?" she asked the merchant eagerly.

Crawford saw astutely that the breed of pups were of an indeterminate breed.

"All kinds," replied the man."What kind do you want, lady?"

"I'd like to get one of those police dogs.I don't suppose you got that kind, do yah?"

With a frown, the man looked doubtfully into his basket and seemed to debate for a few minutes.Unconvinced himself, he gingerly plucked one from the litter, and presented it to Gracie, holding it by the back of the neck.

"That's no police dog," Krendler observed in disgust.

"No, it's not exactly a *police* dog," agreed the merchant."More of an Airedale, I'd say.Look at that coat though."He handed Gracie the pup with a knowing gleam in his eyes.Any woman presented with a homeless puppy was destined to go weak and take it, anyway."Some coat.That's a dog that'll never bother you with catching cold."

"I think it's cute," Gracie remarked, holding it to her face so it might lick her nose."How much is it?"

"That dog?I'd say…ohhh…twenty dollars."

Gracie turned to Krendler expectantly, and he fished a twenty out of his wallet.

"Is it a boy or girl?" she asked once the transaction was complete.

Crawford managed to keep his eyes from rolling out of his head.

"That dog?That dog's a boy."

Krendler shook his head."It's a bitch," he argued decisively."All right then.You have your money.Go buy twenty more dogs with it."

Now with the pup, Gracie and Krendler assumed the lead.Crawford followed at a slightly more relaxed pace, not particularly caring to see where they were headed.While he assumed they had a place in the city, he thought they had passed it.It wasn't until they were outside an apartment complex that they found it was time to explain.

"We're going up to our room," Krendler announced."Come on up, Jack.Gracie'll be upset if you don't see the place."

Gracie looked at him as though just realizing she and Krendler weren't alone."My sister, Catherine, always has guests over for us," she explained, stroking the dog's ears playfully."People who have met her say she's beautiful."

Crawford wondered suddenly what was with the hidden agenda to find him a lady friend before the summer was over.However, he had little room for doubt that Clarice's selection would override whomever Krendler and his mistress might introduce.

Inside, people that appeared to just be lingerers, waiting for the arrival of the mysterious hosts, greeted them.Several who didn't know his face approached Crawford, and he introduced himself as a family friend.To announce his honest connection with the Krendlers would be rude, and slightly awkward, as everyone here seemed to be aware that they were not together by any lawful bounds, nor did they intend to.

The sister mentioned outside, Catherine, was indeed quite lovely.She was closer to Crawford's age, perhaps a few years younger.As the crowd gathered around Gracie to admire the new pup, she wandered in his direction with a drink.

"Do you live down on Long Island, too?" she inquired without any need of structured introduction.She handed him the glass, and turned as another was extended to her by a man he assumed to be her butler.

Accepting the offered wine, Crawford indulged himself in a much-needed taste before feeling obligated to reply."I live at West Egg."

The woman blinked a few times as though this was highly significant."Really?I was down there at a party about a month ago.At a man named Fell's.Do you know him?"

"I live next door to him."

"Well, they say he's the cousin of Prime Minister Tony Blair—and that's where all his money comes from."

Crawford swallowed hard, unsure whether to reflect his disbelief or choke at the implied actuality."Really?"

She nodded."I'm scared of him.I'd hate to have him get anything on me."

For a minute, their attention was averted to Krendler and Gracie once more, a couple which seemed to illuminate when together.Crawford watched them neutrally, wondering a few things in silence as he sipped his drink.

It was Catherine who brought him back to the present.She leaned in close and whispered, "Neither of them can stand the person they're married to."

That seemed rather self-explanatory, but Crawford shrugged it off.He speculated it was a two-way street at the Krendler home of East Egg."Can't they?"

"Can't *stand* them," Catherine declared."What I say is, why go on living with someone if you can't stand them?If I was them, I'd get a divorce and marry each other right away."

"She doesn't like Noble either?"

It was Gracie who answered that.Evidently, she had caught this part of the conversation, and her reply was rather violent and obscene.

"You see," Catherine continued victoriously before lowering her voice again."It's really his wife that's keeping them apart.She's Catholic, and they don't believe in divorce."

This was not true.Clarice was Lutheran; everyone knew that.He found himself more than shocked at the declaration in the lie.

"If he doesn't like Clarice," Crawford ventured, "then why in God's name did he marry her?"

At that, Catherine made a face."It's a vulgar story."

"I'd like to hear it."

It didn't take more prompting. "Well…" Catherine said."Paul liked her once, really liked her.But she seemed so sad and distant, he said.He wanted to…comfort her."

The implication was clear.Comfort, in this context, clearly meant sex.

"But she was repellant of his offers.So he married her."

"He married her just so he could—"

"She's not a dutiful wife," quipped Catherine defensively."You can't really blame Paul for running around to find someone who will give him what he needs."

At that, Crawford cracked a brief, amused smile."Do you mean to tell me…"

"They don't even share the same room.Honestly, I can't see why *she* doesn't divorce *him*.Paul says she sleeps with her gun under her pillow and threatens to shoot him should he try to get in the room."

That was sounding more like the Clarice he knew.Crawford's smile was becoming harder to disguise."Then why doesn't he divorce her?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Something about 'giving her what she deserves,' or something.That's what Gracie said, not Paul."

"All right.Why did Gracie marry Noble?"

Again, their conversation seemed to have attracted the attention of the discussed.Krendler's mistress raised her head from where she sat with the others admiring the pup in her lap."Because I thought he was a gentlemen!" she quipped angrily."Because he seemed to really like me.Because I thought he could provide."

"You were crazy about him for a while," Catherine observed.

"Crazy about him!" Gracie cried."Who said I was crazy about him?Was never any more crazy about him than I was that man there!"

Crawford found a finger pointed in his direction.

From the other side of the room, Krendler seemed to peak interest in the unfolding conversation.

"Noble ridiculously thought he could make something of himself!" Gracie wailed."And the only reason he married *me* was because…" With that, her eyes left her sister's and traveled to Krendler, as though afraid to continue without permission.However, this woman let nothing stand in her way, and with a deep breath and eyes sparkling with new conviction, she pushed forward audaciously."Was because Clarice was already taken."

At the mention of his wife's name, Krendler's eyes darkened.It was as if she had committed a true blasphemy against his religion, or something of otherwise dire importance.Crawford registered in those brief seconds the oath under which they operated their affair, and similarly, his respect for Clarice elevated as he found himself more and more disgusted with her husband.

In a fury of quick movements, Krendler paraded to his mistress and hunched himself over her seat, snarling eyes burning into hers."You have no right to say her name," he hissed.

For a fleeting moment, Crawford wondered if he was angrier with the reminder of his woman at home, and his marital obligation, or if this was in legitimate defense of her character.After a second of silent deliberation, he opted for the first.

Just as stubbornly, Gracie rose to her feet, not shying in any form from him."Clarice!Clarice!Clarice!I'll say it whenever I want to!Clarice!Clari—"

A sound cut her short.It was the ringing of Paul Krendler's open hand striking her face.With a grunt, Gracie fell backward into her chair, and the entire room fell into an awkward quietness.

Crawford blinked and studied Krendler's face, waiting for a strain of remorse to befall him.Nothing that resembled it flashed in his direction.

With a muffled choke, Gracie reclaimed herself and turned to face him, oblivious to the dozens of eyes now on her.Blood trickled down her nose, and her eyes were full of pain, but not from the wound.In a small voice, she cried softly."Clarice…" she declared."Clarice.Clarice.Clarice."

Despite his extreme disliking for Gracie, Crawford felt an unwanted streak of admiration speed up his spine.He frowned and looked to Krendler, expecting another slap.Instead, the man drew her into an impassive hug, and let her weep on his shoulder.

With sad, knowing eyes, Catherine turned back to him."You see?Can't stand them.Just can't stand them."

Crawford nodded absently, but his mind was now to the woman being quarreled over.He found his first instinct was to return and pay her extra attention, especially after witnessing this neglect.

However, when he did arrive home, Crawford found the hour only allowed him to sleep.There would be plenty of time for all sorts of compensated attention tomorrow.

Or the day after that.

For every day of this summer that promised to be longer than anyone anticipated.

***


	3. The Party

As the week progressed, Crawford noticed a steadily increasing flow of caterers delivering things to his neighbor's house, evi

As the week progressed, Crawford noticed a steadily increasing flow of caterers delivering things to his neighbor's house, evidently in preparation for one of his notorious parties.With them came crates of oranges and lemons, several hundred feet of canvas, and enough lights to make a Christmas tree of Fell's impressive garden.The buffet tables were lined with spiced ham that nestled against salads of harlequin design, along with pastry pigs and turkeys cursed to a dark gold.The collection of wines consisted to Manzaneque Chardonnay, Manzaneque Finca Elez, Gran Juvé, Reserve Vintage Brut, Chianti, Amarone, and Chateau d'Yquem.

By seven o'clock on Friday evening, the orchestra arrived.Not merely a quartet, but a whole arrangement of oboes, trombones, saxophones, viols, cornets, piccolos, low and high drums, and of course, the classic strings.Not fifteen minutes after the initial tuning did the first guest arrived, and from then onward, the steady flow of people could not be stopped.

When Crawford himself arrived, he decidedly made an astute observation.In studying the other attendees, he noted from rumors of this man Fell, that this was not the type of people he would readily welcome.He believed he was one of the guests that carried an actual invitation.This, naturally, was curious on its own accord.After all, since his arrival on Long Island, Dr. Fell had not extended the offer to make his formal introduction.The invitation was the first suggestion of immediate contact he had received from his neighbor. 

It was that morning when the chauffer in a uniform crossed his lawn with a surprisingly formal note from his employer.Stating that the honor would be entirely his if Crawford would attend his so-called 'little party' in the evening.Fell noted that he had seen him several times and regrettably couldn't find the time.Signed Arthur Fell, MD in a majestically beautiful script.

Now at the party, Crawford wished he had a better idea who to look for.His intention here was to make a formal introduction with his neighbor, a task made no less difficult by the man's mysterious social habits at his very own parties.

Crawford was singularly grateful to see Ardelia Mapp among the other guests.

"Hello!" he screamed as he advanced toward her.She had just emerged with a crowd of others from the main house and had a brand of indistinguishable wine in hand.

Similarly, she appeared to be glad to see him, though she wouldn't say it in too many words, or reveal it through alternative tones of her voice."I thought you might be here," she remarked."I remembered you lived next door to Dr. Fell.Wondered if you'd find yourself over here at one of his parties."

Crawford presented her with the invitation, suddenly compelled to differentiate himself from the other guests."Ah, but I was invited," he observed.

However, Mapp was no longer paying attention.A girl had bumped into her from the dance floor, and they were enjoying a casual reminiscence of the last party they attended together.Crawford frowned at the sudden abandonment, even when his eyes met Mapp's and she nodded her encouragement for him to keep up.

"Candice, you've died your hair since the last time I saw you," she was telling this girl.

"Yeah."The unfamiliar face reached to stroke her vibrantly colored purple hair."I figured conformism shades were too flattering to your parents."

Mapp tossed an airy glance to Crawford, which he matched to the best of his ability."Do you come to these parties often?" she asked Candice.

"I like to come," she replied."I never care what I do, so I always have a good time.When I was here last I tore my dress on a chair, and he asked me my name and address."

"Excuse me," Crawford interrupted, eyes widened in a sudden peak of interest."Who did?"

"Dr. Fell, of course," came the dry response."And by the next week, I got a package from Croirier's with a new dress in it."

Both Mapp and Crawford blinked their disbelief. 

"Did you keep it?" Mapp asked.

"Sure I did.I was going to wear it tonight, but I had to alter the hem line."Candice glanced about excitedly."Boy oh BOY, and was it a dress!Gas blue with lavender beads.That man has exquisite taste."

With a confirmative shake of her head, Mapp turned to Crawford and whispered, "There's something funny about a fellow that'll do a thing like that.He must not want any trouble with anyone."

Candice, having not retracted her ears from the conversation, eagerly jumped forward again."He doesn't!" she exclaimed."Somebody told me—"

With an understanding pause, the narrator motioned for the party of three to bunch together, as though they were going to discuss top-secret governmental programs, or other issues that required the utmost confidence.

"Somebody told me they thought he killed a man once."

Mapp wasn't easily bought."I don't think it's so much *that*," she sneered."But I do think that he has ties with the Black Market."

A quick look to Candice quickly confirmed her disagreement.Crawford thought it best to hold his tongue, especially since he knew nothing about Fell to begin with.

"Oh no," Candice said."It couldn't be that.The police have investigated him, or so I've heard, at least for illegal ties to his money.But you *look* at him. You look at him sometimes when he thinks nobody's looking at him.I bet he killed a man."

Shaking her head in firm disagreement, Mapp turned to Crawford, her eyes aligned with decision.At the speed of lightening, she had discarded her conversation with Candice and come to some radical epiphany that she thought should include him."Let's get out of here.This party's too polite, for my liking."

"Where is there to go?" Crawford retorted."And I still haven't met this Fell character."

"Are you sure you want to?Even if he killed a man?"

"I thought you didn't believe that."

Mapp shook her head once more."Oh, I don't.Not at all, as a matter of fact.But a man with such rumors running about him can't really be anyone but trouble, don't you think?Besides, the liquor here is much too light.Let's leave."

As she tried to brush passed him, Crawford took a firm grasp of her arm.This was surprising for both, as he found he was not a confrontational person, nor did he strive to be.On the other hand, Mapp apparently appreciated the force, and he found himself closer still to her and her marinating perfume.

"We haven't had supper yet," he noted."And I'd like to get the best of my invitation.Besides, Dr. Fell can't be too horribly bad, or people wouldn't come to his parties."

It took very little to convince her this was the best plan.Mapp, as he figured, was up for anything as long as it dealt with socializing or intimacy.With the knowledge that Crawford's interests were not in anyone's bed tonight, she seemed more agreeable. "All right.To sit, then."

"To sit," he agreed.

This, also, proved in vain.

Once situated, Crawford again found himself in the middle of an already-heated discussion, the topic of which was no different than the one he and Mapp had collectively decided to drop.The speculation around this Fell figure was exquisitely enticing, like a bad soap opera.Though Crawford knew better than to believe everything he heard, some of the rumors were too radically delicious to ignore.

To apply everything, he heard further commentary of the man's alleged overseas connections.How could one person be the cousin (a title which had now extended to brother by some conversationalists) of Tony Blair, involved in numerous Black Market scandals, a popular supplier of drugs, and guilty if at least one account of murder without attracting an inkling of attention from the authorities, whom apparently were actively investigating him for any illegal actions?

Still, it was a delight to believe.Crawford felt the thrill of contention, and his desire to meet the man likewise suffered a drastic elevation.

Perhaps after an hour into the variety of debates and assorted gossip of their mysterious host, Mapp turned to him, thrusting her empty glass into his face."Jack!" she giggled, thoroughly intoxicated."Jack, be a dear and invigorate my wine.You don't mind, do you?"The slurred speech incorporated with words she could arguably spell was amusing, and he decided not to dwell on the placement of verbs in the incoherent sentences of his drunken companion.

Gentlemanly, Crawford recognized that Mapp could barely maintain her seat, much less walk and perform any functional duties.With a smile, he nodded and accepted the glass, hurrying to his feet.

As he neared the refreshment table, he turned again to examine Mapp, frowned, and made a quick decision.It wouldn't do his reputation any good if he allowed the woman he had notably spent the most time with this evening to become acutely wasted, even if it was too late.Nevertheless, encouraging overdrinking was no better than supplying the liquor himself, and instead of approaching the waiting butler; he altered direction and targeted the punch bowl.

A man stood there, his back to him, fiddling with the ladle.Clearing his throat to announce his presence, Crawford took station next to the attendant and waited for him to find peace with the punch.

The wait was not long.As soon as he stilled, the man turned to him, flashing a kind though particularly deceptive smile.

"Good evening," greeted the man in a soft, metallic voice that seemed to make Crawford's blood hum.

"Hello," he replied in kind.

The man took a sip of his wine, indicating with a nod to the punch."I wouldn't advise you draw any into your cup if your intention is to remain sober," he reported."I'm afraid some ill-mannered guests have determined every beverage here should contain alcohol."

Crawford paused in his reach for the ladle to smile his understanding."I see," he remarked."Have you tasted it?"

"Hardly.The air carries the telltale scent of bad brandy mixed with good punch.I apologize for the inconvenience." For a minute, and only a minute, Crawford wondered if the man might be wasted himself, as the art of smelling tainted drinks seemed a bit farfetched.However, once their eyes locked, he noted this person was of sound mind, or alert enough to perceive it as such.

Firstly, the eyes were a color Crawford had never before seen.The hint of red seemed to bore into him like a drill, though the affect was not threatening.Perhaps foolishly, Crawford reflected no peril at their seemingly dangerous proximity, noting, however, the trickery and mischief cast into this man's pupils.

There was something else, too.

"Forgive me for making an observation," the man said, turning to offer his attention in its entirety,"but your face is terribly familiar.Ah, no, don't tell me.The Behavioral Science Department of the FBI, am I right?"

Crawford blinked his disbelief. Though he hardly seemed familiar, at closer inspection, he conceded the man might be one he formerly knew, but that could easily be a reflex of the power of suggestion.Still, there was no sense in denying him an owed answer."Yes," he replied lowly."My apologies, but I don't seem to remember you."

The man chuckled lightly, and the lights of the garden reflected on his small white teeth."No, I don't imagine so.We've never met, I assure you, but I do know who you are."Before allowing Crawford the chance for rebuttal, he turned to face the crowd."Lively crew, eh?The crowd never ceases to amaze me."

The conversation had the promise of continuance, had Ardelia Mapp not sickened of waiting for her drink.As Crawford started to form a reply, she stumbled into view.

"Are you having a good time?" she asked, evidently forgetting the implied notion to be stern with tardiness.She grasped her drink and filled it with punch without raising a comment from Crawford's new acquaintance.

"Much better," he confirmed with a nod, turning once more to the man."This is an unusual party for me.I haven't even seen the host.I live over there."Crawford waved his hand in the direction of his humble abode without checking for accuracy at his aim."This morning, this man Fell sent over his chauffer with an invitation."

In the seconds that followed, in which Crawford anticipated similar disbelief or sympathy at the convey of confusion, the only answer granted was a blank stare as though suffering a failure of comprehension.

"I'm Dr. Fell," he said suddenly.

Crawford blinked, then flushed."What!" he exclaimed."Oh, I beg your pardon."

However, the issue of mistaken identity didn't appear to weigh much with him, and the matter was dismissed with a casual shake of the head."I thought you knew, old sport.I'm afraid I'm not a very good host."

Dr. Fell smiled, and as all would come to understand, whatever misinterpretation from either party was discarded.It was a rare smile, one that seemed to radiate eternal reassurances, as well as the promise of good manners, to concentrate on the targeted recipient with an irresistible prejudice in their favor.

Almost the moment Dr. Fell identified himself, a butler hurried toward him with information that Chicago was holding an important phone call.Nodding his understanding, he turned to both Crawford and Mapp apologetically; excusing himself with a small bow that included both of them in turn.

"If you want anything, just ask for it," he encouraged Crawford."Excuse me.I will rejoin you later."

When he was gone, Crawford turned immediately to Mapp, eyes widened with the initial desire to constrain his surprise, but he found himself unable of anything other than to ask in a fresh foray of questioning, "Who is he?Do you even know?"

Mapp shrugged simply, stumbling a bit as she drank the tampered punch."He's just a man named Fell.We can't be sure, can we?"

This seemed like quite the revelation from just an hour or so before.Perhaps alcohol had the alternate affect on people; made them think under rational instead of accusatory light.

Despite this, Crawford was determined to get answers – real answers."Where is he from, I mean?And what does he do, if he has to cover something up on the Black Market?"

With a chuckle, Mapp shook her head."Now *you're* started on the subject.Well, he told me once he was an Oxford man."She took another drink, draining the glass clean, and set it on the table.Apparently struggling with the temptation of a refill, she seemed to dismiss the option as for now, engrossed in conversation."But, I don't believe it," she added a minute later.

"Why not?"

"I dunno," she slurred with a shrug."You look at him.Oxford?No…I don't think so.And he said…he said it funny…dunno…just dunno." 

There was a moment of silence, uncomfortable, perhaps, on with the hint of the company they were in.This man who stole the evening without needing to show his face to any guest.

Mapp, of course, knew how to break up awkward moments, and again shrugged, evidently deciding the punch deserved her extended attention after all."But he gives great parties," she said."And I love big parties.They're so intimate.At small parties, there just isn't any privacy."

Food for thought.He had to chew on that to decide if he found its flavor agreeable.

There was a sudden boom from a bass drum, and the voice of the orchestra conductor rang out over the garden so quickly that Crawford barely scampered the time to feign surprise at the interruption.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he bellowed."At the request of Dr. Fell we are going to play a selection by Bach.Goldberg Variations."

The piece was one Crawford didn't know by title or score, though he found himself oddly enjoying it.His eyes wandered over the crowd of people, some making unpleasant remarks about the older musical sound.Unlike its predecessors of that evening, it had the resonance of a true orchestral number, and wasn't particularly anything anyone could successfully dance to.When Crawford's eyes landed on Dr. Fell, standing alone at the marble steps, he stopped to simply watch the man, catching him, perhaps, at one of those rumored time when he thought no one was looking.However, there was nothing monstrous about his appearance, even suspended in a minute of inactivity.Still, from a distance, he appeared to be an epitome of good manners, and Crawford knew instantly that what he saw was not for show.

Crawford was truly enamored with Bach, and Mapp seemed to share his enthusiasm, even if the music was not something she would regularly enjoy.She had even gone as far as to invent some rather questionable dance steps when Fell's butler approached.

"Ms. Mapp?" he asked, tapping on her shoulder and causing her to flip to newfound soberness, as though on cue."I beg your pardon, but Dr. Fell would like to speak to you alone."

"With me?"

"Yes, madam."

Mapp flashed a cynical look to Crawford, her mouth forming the word 'madam' in silent disbelief, before turning to follow the man inside.

A significant period of time had passed before she emerged.The party, however, emanated no signs of dying before dawn.

"I've just heard the most amazing thing!" Mapp announced when she returned, breath short and eyes dancing with the thrill of discovery.From behind, Crawford saw Dr. Fell walk out, his eyes straying in their direction briefly before he turned to tend to other guests."How long were we in there?"

Crawford estimated without checking his watch."Oh, about an hour."

But time, evidently, was irrelevant to Mapp.She shook it off without another thought."It was…simply amazing," she repeated.Then, likewise, her eyes dimmed and some of the excitement drained."But I swore I wouldn't tell it and here I am tantalizing you."With a yawn, she stretched, as though the effect of her secrecy purchased with it the unexpected element of sleep."Please come and see me…" she offered, farewell evident in her tone without needing to be suggested with words.

Then she was gone, and as if she were the life of the party, others, one by one, realized they were not born on the Fell lawn, and knew it was time to return.

Such symbolism reminded Crawford of his own impending schedule, and he was grateful that the journey home was nothing more than a scamper across lawns.However, he felt compelled to chat with Dr. Fell again, not knowing if this would be the extent of their dialogue.An occasional glance at parties, perhaps a conversation here and there.Other than that, relying on rumors for knowledge, for people who – by chance – knew other people to get his information.

Crawford was grateful to see Dr. Fell.He wanted to thank him, at least, should this be the closing of their acquaintance until the next social gathering.Without hesitating, he made the approach.

"Thanks for the invitation, Doctor," he said as they shook hands."And again, my apologies for the confusion in the garden."

"Don't mention it," Dr. Fell excused."Don't give it another thought.Why don't you join me for lunch tomorrow, old sport?After all, we are neighbors.It would be a crime not to get to know each other, wouldn't you say?" He flashed another one his smiles."Is that convenient?"

"Very."Crawford nodded with a smile that failed to hide his enthusiasm.It was dangerous, associating with crowds of bad reputation, but that hardly put cease to the arguably hundreds that attended his massive parties."What time?"

"That depends on what is agreeable for you.I'll phone you around nine o'clock, is that all right?"

"Perfectly."

"Terrific."Then a butler was behind him, tapping insistently on his shoulder.

"Philadelphia wants you on the telephone, sir."

Dr. Fell masked annoyance well, if he had any at all.Perhaps it was Crawford's own bias, but he was under the vague impression that being called to the phone from various cities would grow tiresome."All right.I'll be right there."He was presented again with the calm, impassive face of the doctor, and none of this conveyed behind the mystique of his eyes."Good night, Mr. Crawford."

"Good night."

Then, before hurrying to answer his call, Dr. Fell smiled. To Crawford, there seemed to be a pleasant significance in being among the last to leave.

And as he turned his back to the Fell Manor, he could still feel the lights from the gardens shining onto his back.Similarly, a cold air seemed to overtake him as the trees shadowed the warmth, and he made the dreary walk to his home.For the first time since his arrival, Crawford found the taste of darkness discomfiting.

***


	4. The Arrangement

It was close to seven o'clock when Crawford awoke the next morning; seven thirty by the time he could talk himself into stirri

It was close to seven o'clock when Crawford awoke the next morning; seven thirty by the time he could talk himself into stirring.Leisure wakings were a pleasant addition to the inactive duties of summer.Years of early risings in the age-old competition with the sun to determine who was the most punctual had taken their toll.To sit back and watch his opponent size the trophy caused no spite to shimmy up his spine.

Last night, after arriving home from Dr. Fell's party, Crawford received a phone call from Ardelia Mapp, asking him to meet her around three the next afternoon.When he explained that he had previously arranged plans to venture to town and meet with his neighbor, she reflected no surprise, as though she expected it.Furthermore, she gave her assurances that whatever meeting he had with Fell would be complete by the time she wished to meet, and as any gentleman of good breeding, Crawford found himself incapable of refusing her offer.

At eight, Melia Buchanan, a woman on his relatively small payroll who went to town to purchase groceries for him, arrived with coffee and assorted breakfast-food.In the two weeks since his arrival, it was an implied custom to receive the goods, present her pay, and generally forget her existence until the next time her services were needed.However, this morning, Crawford stopped to ask her general opinion of Dr. Fell.As everyone he had encountered, he received a biased, uneducated response.

"He's a dealer," she summarized."One time, he killed a man who found out he was the brother of Tony Blair, and second cousin to the devil."Then she stopped, looked around as though anticipating the discussed to be standing nearby, shaking his head in disapproval.Once she verified that they were as alone as they were two minutes ago, she neared, face excited and flushed."Some say he ate that man, too."

The long list of allegations never seemed to end.Crawford smiled and nodded, thinking nothing of her misguidance, or this new crime to add to his neighbor's ever-rising list of supposed felonies.He thanked her and told her she may leave.Nothing was confirmed except the outspread of gossip, and he thought nothing of it.

At promptly nine o'clock, Crawford's phone buzzed to announce Dr. Fell's promised call.The connected distorted the doctor's voice, though the silky element was still distinguishable, and he could see maroon eyes, even across the lawn and through the walls that separated them.Plans were made for a rendezvous around eleven, including a trip to town and lunch.

"See you around," Fell offered as though conversing with a childhood chum that he had not seen in years.

It wasn't until his time was reduced to fifteen minutes that Crawford left his house to cross the lawns and meet Fell at the designated station by his garages.The man was dressed wonderfully, not dissimilar from the evening before, and likewise not too prim to strike inferiority in the hearts of his associates.

"Good morning, Mr. Crawford," he offered pleasantly, the smile he flashed instantaneously disarming any doubts he had about this meeting."I hope it wasn't too difficult for you, getting away on such short notice."

"Not at all.This is my free time, this summer, I mean."

"Ah."Turning to face his closed garages, making the simple motion in itself seem like an art form, Dr. Fell raised the door opener, and turned to study Crawford for affect as the Jaguar greeted them and the early morning sunlight."This way, please," he said with a nod in the designated direction, and he started walking in trust his companion would follow, without waiting for affirmation.

Indeed, Crawford did follow, and wondered why he found the presumption so curious.

When they were closer to the vehicle, he allowed himself to stop and ogle."This is your car?" he asked in stilled disbelief.

"If it isn't, I've lived under a terrible pretense," Fell retorted, his smile not fading, and for a minute, Crawford felt a surge of belief toward the rumors that circulated around this man.There was an air of falsity around him, as though he were too kind in modern day society to be an authentic personality.

Motioning deftly for the vehicle, Dr. Lecter inclined his head to the right with slow prestige, his maroon eyes sparkling."Care to marvel all morning, or shall we make some use of it?"

The question, in any other context, would have seemed presumptuous and rude.However, Fell spoke with such preciseness that and implied courtesy weaved into voice. Crawford that instant that insolence was not a motive, that in fact, this man most likely held a fetish for the impolite.

Nodding with a sheepish smile, Crawford returned, "Of course.Pardon my ogling."

"Oh, not at all.If there is something you would rather do, pray do not allow me to keep you from it.Was I too quick to assume lunch in town was agreeable?"

At that, Crawford suppressed a chuckle.Offhandedly, he considered the possibility of the institution of over-politeness.It merited thinking, but not now.With smooth diligence, he shook his head."Not at all."He was slowly realizing that as Krendler's mistress, Gracie, was a woman you simply never said 'no' to, Fell was a man you never confronted in a stage composed of conflicting values.

"All very well then.Please, help yourself inside."

The ride was pleasant at first, not disconcerting as Crawford originally anticipated.After all, the man to his left was – in all regards – a perfect stranger.His knowledge on Dr. Fell's character was limited to scandal and rumors.It occurred to him that the doctor might not be aware of the gossip that seemed to radiate off his elegant self, then realized that he was far to perceptive to overlook anything.

Perhaps a few minutes of silence passed before Fell felt it appropriate to open the stable lines of discussion, the slightly edgy introductory process abandoned at West Egg."Tell me, Mr. Crawford, what is your opinion of me?"

For a brief moment, Crawford could do nothing but blink his surprise.In all his life, he had never encountered such a blunt questioned, voiced without an air of hesitance.It was obvious Dr. Fell had the confidence not to feel uncomfortable in seemingly restricted situations, and displayed it by proceeding to make anyone around him as itchy as he desired.After all, if such a question did not bother him to ask, why must the reply be difficult?

Another thing revealed itself in his tone.This man valued honesty, even if the truth was unpleasant to hear.He asked no more, and likewise expected no less.

Still overwhelmed, Crawford drew in a breath and began to generalize prevarications that the inquisition deserved.

Not wanting to hear excuses, Dr. Fell held up his shapely right hand, gaze never alternating attention from the road ahead, despite the notable slowness of nonexistent traffic."In spite of what you say, my friend, I speculate you have an understanding with talk of the townspeople and other locals.Those tired of their own tedious lives and in permanent preparation to linger where they are not welcome, and speak out in inaccuracy when presented something they don't understand.Though I hold you in a much higher regard and would never confuse you as the sort to trust gossip rather than fact, I don't want you confused by the stories you hear."

That was somewhat liberating.Crawford nodded at the confirmation that Fell was aware of the bizarre accusations that flavored conversation in his halls.

Fell drew in a breath before starting, and the air of the car was soon filled in the uninterrupted delicious richness of his voice."Contraire to what people might have told you, my wealth was not the product of secondary earnings.No relative left it to me in a will, nor am I kin to the Prime Minister."At that, he tilted his head again and chuckled lightly to himself, perhaps to show enthusiasm at the wild allegation."I've earned my keepings.I was educated at Oxford, and have lived in many European cities. Particularly Italy; Venice, Rome, and Florence, though I have made residence in Paris and of course, various towns of Great Britain."

Pausing then, Dr. Fell delivered Crawford a sideways look, and he understood why Mapp believed him to be lying.Again, the twinkle was back in his eyes, the very same that suggested terrible mischief, as well as unauthorized excitement.And with this, his whole statement seemed to fall to pieces, Crawford finding himself with doubt, wondering if there wasn't something sinister about him after all.

As though suddenly compelled to support his claims with evidence. Fell twisted in his seat and found his way into his coat pocket, withdrawing something small and thin."I always carry this with me," he noted as he handed it to Crawford."A souvenir from the days of Oxford.It was taken in Trinity Quad—the man to my left is now the Earl of Doncaster."

The photograph was composed of half a dozen men, posed nicely in an archway through which were visible a host of spires.And there was Dr. Fell, looking several years younger.He held a glass of wine, and the spark in his eyes, not betrayed with age, confirmed through the years of his youth, the man had indeed remained the same.

And Crawford knew then it was true.Everything.In a flash, he saw the skins of tigers flaming his palace on the Grand Canal; him opening a chest of rubies with ease, with their crimson-lighted depths, the chewings of his broken heart. 

Dr. Fell waited patiently for Crawford to hand his picture back, settled, and paused a few minutes as though in thought.When he spoke again, it was as if he had never stopped."The reason I am telling you this," he observed, almost sullenly, "is simply because I am going to make a considerable request of you today.I thought it proper that you know something about me.I wouldn't ask you without comprehension of myself from my own mouth rather than the hogwash you hear from various sources."Again, he paused, and Crawford received the impression he was trying to form the correct words in his head, however unnecessary the act was.However, he also recognized this man never spoke without knowing what reply he might make to his conversationalist.The brief silence was perhaps a cunning lapse into making him believe the words he spoke were thought out to the greatest level of criticism.

"I usually find myself in the company of strangers," Dr. Fell proclaimed when he decided the time was right."I set myself adrift, traveling here and there, trying to forget something sad of long ago."There was a moment's hesitation after that, and Crawford's interest, successfully peaked, nearly caused him to explode with expectancy.He leaned in, as though afraid he wouldn't hear the tragedy.Unlike before, this pause seemed authentic.

Dr. Fell regarded his interest with a small smile."You'll hear about it this afternoon."

And Crawford slumped."At lunch?"

"No, this afternoon.I happened to learn you're meeting Ms. Mapp in town."

That threw him off balance, and Crawford shook his head in full illustration of his bewilderment.What was this?As a few seconds of uncomfortable silence drew to a close, he hesitated, cringing inwardly at his uneducated venture."Do you mean you're in love with Ms. Mapp?"

Fell's laugh was deep and it carried the distant tune of chamber music.Pleasant to listen to, giving those around him an air of disconcertion once the humor in such a statement was successfully noted."No, old sport, I'm not," he corrected."But Ms. Mapp has kindly consented to approach you about this matter."

That was why Mapp called him that morning.Not out of courtesy.It was at Dr. Fell's request.Crawford was both somewhat astonished and understanding.He had already concluded the man was simply someone you neglected to disagree with.After all, he couldn't muster a better reason for Ardelia to want to see him.Nevertheless, with as positive he was that the request was something utterly inspiring, Crawford found himself regretting that he had ever set foot on Fell's overpopulated lawn.

The rest of the car ride carried through without conversation.After a few minutes of silence, Dr. Fell leaned forward and inserted a CD into the Jaguar's player.Crawford was accompanied with 'Rhapsody In Blue' throughout the remainder of the trip, and wondered why he found it quaint at the doctor's selection.

There were all sorts of things he would learn of Fell today.An alternate taste in music was simply the icebreaker.

***

Roaring noon.

Crawford was standing before a table that hosted a man he had never met before.The selected dining location was the nicest he had ever seen, and likely would see, unless Fell treated him to lunch more often.

Always the attentive gentleman, Dr. Fell turned to him to make a formal introduction."Mr. Crawford, this is my friend, Mr. Jackson."

The man seated looked up in interested acknowledgment.He was the most unlikely specimen for a friend that he would have assigned to the elegant man at his side.Mr. Jackson was large and bulky, dark skinned, and eyes set an usual distance apart.At noting his considerable size, seated, Crawford distinguished this fellow towered several stories over him.

"Good day, Mr. Crawford," Jackson said, standing slightly to reach his hand, which he took into a healthy shake.

"Pleased to meet you, Mr. Jackson," he returned politely.

Then, as if the finale of the preface made them the best of old friends, the large man sat back with a smile that revealed his small white teeth."This is a nice restaurant, here," he informed Dr. Fell, who merely nodded his agreement."Look at the ceiling.Presbyterian nymphs!"

"The décor is charming," agreed the doctor coolly as he claimed a seat.Crawford took the initiative to take the chair next to him.

Dr. Fell neared, his voice lowered in a silent quest for secrecy."Mr. Crawford," he said softly, "I'm afraid I made you a little angry this morning in the car."With expert timing, he flashed his disarming smile.

However, Crawford managed to battle it without much struggle."I don't like mysteries," he admitted."My career circulated around them, and a person grows agitated finding work when you're supposed to be on vacation.Besides, I don't understand why you won't come out frankly and tell me what you want.Why must it all come from Ms. Mapp?"

The look in Dr. Fell's eyes confirmed he understood Crawford's silent inquiry, even if Crawford himself didn't just yet."It's nothing underhand, I assure you," he replied."Ms. Mapp's a terrific sportswoman, you know, and she would never do anything that wasn't right."

That statement in itself drew a considerable line of question in him, yet Crawford refrained from comment.

Suddenly, Dr. Fell's gaze dropped to his watch – a splendid piece of jewelry – and he jumped up with sudden quickness that was deceiving to his usually patience façade.Crawford found himself alone with Mr. Jackson.

"He has to use the phone," the man prophesized, his eyes following the doctor's quick movements, even as Crawford could no longer see him."Fine fellow, isn't he? Perfect gentleman."

There was no room for debate.Any protest was futile, and against Crawford's greater senses."Yes."

"He's an Oxford man."

He feigned ignorance."Oh?"

Nodding, Mr. Jackson took a sip of coffee and reclined."He went to Oxford College in England.You know Oxford?"

"I've heard of it.Never been there."

"It's one of the most famous colleges in the world."

Crawford nodded, though his interest lay elsewhere.Dr. Fell's earlier request and his retention of it drew his attention back down the path of rumors and allegations.Whatever the man was, it was unlike anything he had seen before.Now, presented with a man to know him first-handedly, he decided to put his companion's absence to good use, and ask informative questions.All he could hope for was a direct, honest answer.

Something in Mr. Jackson's eyes reflected honesty.The concern for it seemed worthless, and security of the conversation nothing to worry himself over.

"Have you known Dr. Fell for a long time?" Crawford asked casually.

"Several years," replied Mr. Jackson, oddly gratified."I had the pleasure of his acquaintance just before he left for his European travels.This was after Oxford, of course.He went to Oxford, came here, then went back for a while.I knew I had discovered a man of fine breeding after I talked with him for an hour."

There was a hesitance, words forming in Mr. Jackson's mind that Crawford thought reflected through his eyes.Unlike Dr. Fell, there was genuineness in the pause and its need."He's very careful about women," he remarked, perhaps as an afterthought."He would never so much as look at a friend's wife."

When the subject of this instinctive trust returned to the table and sat, Mr. Jackson downed the remainder of his coffee before bolting to his seat.

"I have enjoyed my lunch," he said."And I'm sure you two have matters to discuss.I'll leave now before I outstay my welcome."

"Don't hurry, Barney," Fell requested, his voice kept mannerly courteous, though without enthusiasm.

Mr. Jackson raised his hand as some sort of benediction. "You're very kind," he noted. "But I believe I belong with another group. I feel too outta place here. Thanks...Arthur. You two can sit here and discuss your business deals and your young ladies...and whatever else it is you psychiatrists talk about." 

In watching the abrupt retreat, Crawford allowed himself to wonder if something he had that went to offense. 

When he turned to Dr. Fell for some explanation, he was disenchanted with the half-hearted attempt. 

"He becomes very sentimental at times," was the report. "This is one of those days, I'd say. He's quite a character around New York." 

Crawford nodded, his face exhibiting his interest. "Who is he, anyway? A lawyer?" 

"No." 

A flash of Mr. Jackson's unusually white and trim teeth struck him, the same hygienic care Dr. Fell seemed to specialize in. Crawford considered and ventured a guess. "A dentist?" 

"Barney Jackson…" mused the doctor, as though ignoring the question entire. At first, the name struck Crawford as horribly ridiculous, however whimsical that there should be a person adopted under the name 'Barney' these days. "No. None of that. Actually, he is in the medical field. He's studying to obtain his LPN license." 

The waiter approached with a ticket, which Fell dived for before allowing his new friend an adequate attempt to battle for the right. Despite Crawford's protests, it was the doctor who handed over the pay. Minutes following were spent in silence. 

Then Crawford looked up to see Paul Krendler. 

"Come along with me a minute," he requested suddenly, glancing to Dr. Fell. "I've got to say hello to someone." 

By the time he had climbed to his feet, Krendler had spotted them. They stopped awkwardly in the middle of the restaurant, mindful of entering customers and servers carrying trays overfilled with lavish food orders. 

"Where have you been?" Krendler demanded as though the matter were of personal significance. "Clarice's furious because you haven't called up." 

However, he wasn't listening. Instead, Crawford turned to the doctor, determined to make the same polite introduction as he had experienced with Barney Jackson. "This is Dr. Fell," he informed his cousin's husband. "Dr. Fell, this is Paul Krendler." 

They shook hands briefly, and an unfamiliar look of distant peril bereft Fell's eyes. Crawford regarded him with impending curiosity, unsure if he liked the new, unforeseen gaze. However, it was over as soon as the man realized he had an audience. 

As Pilcher had ignored his existence the day he encountered Gracie did Krendler dismiss Dr. Fell, disinterest written plainly in his eyes. "How've you been, anyhow? How'd you happen to come up this far to eat?" He asked Crawford. 

"Dr. Fell invited me." 

"Ah, yes." The doctor briefly stirred Crawford's attention, shifting uncomfortably. "I believe I am keeping you from an important meeting," he announced, as though remembering on the spur of the moment. "I'll excuse myself, now. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Krendler." 

Just as Mr. Jackson made his daring escape, Dr. Fell was out of sight before Crawford could blink. 

* * *

"Hello, Ms. Mapp," Crawford said when she approached the dinner table at the Plaza Hotel. It was several minutes passed three, though he waited too long. The menu wasn't riveting reading material, however it did assist in averting his attention from the bizarre happenings of the day. After Dr. Fell's abrupt departure, he and Krendler exchanged a few words and the usual promises that one would visit the other soon, even if it was known between the two that they were not popular with one another. 

It was for Clarice's benefit. 

"Heya, Jack," she retorted, taking her seat with a lazy sigh. "I've been all over this town today. Never get tired of it. Day trips really help me take my mind off things. So, how have you been?" 

"Since last night?" 

"I don't remember much from last night." 

"I don't suspect you would. But you were asked to invite me here." 

Mapp nodded, motioning to a waiter nearby, the action soft and nearly ineffective, as though she didn't wish to be seen. "I had to remember that. It was the only interesting thing that happened all evening." 

Crawford's eyebrows perked as he took a sip of coffee. "Then why don't you tell me about it?" 

At that, Mapp's mouth curled into a sly smile, and he sensed her love of torture. However, she couldn't remain silent long. This was at Dr. Fell's request. "Hmmm…aren't you the eager beaver?" 

"I'd like to know. Secrets drive me insane." 

"Can I order first?" 

"Can you please get on with it? The suspense is killing me." There was more authenticity in his voice than he intended, and Crawford scowled inwardly at himself. Begging this woman would get him nowhere. Best to do things her way. 

However, after flashing another antagonizing smile, Mapp nodded her agreement. She did force him to endure an order of iced tea with extra lemon, and some added slices on the side, before devoting her full attention to the task at hand. "All right, then," she conceded. "Are you ready?" He nodded. "Okay. Here it goes. And don't interrupt me, no matter what I say. Okay? Okay. 

"This was a few years ago, at night. I was walking from one place to another, half on the sidewalks and half on the lawns. I was happier on the lawns because I had shoes from England with rubber soles that bit into softer ground. I was enjoying an outfit acquired at my most recent shopping splurge, not a unique occurrence, of course. It had been a picture perfect day. 

"I was on my way home, you see. Clarice and I shared a duplex then, back when she lived in Washington. When she moved here, I moved with her. We're like sisters. This was during her last case, that Buffalo Bill thing. Anyway, when I got closer, I saw she was standing outside with someone. Naturally, this completely surprised me. If you knew Clarice before she married Paul, you knew she was never *with* anyone. He was a well-muscled guy with the most controlled posture I'd ever seen. They were completely engrossed in each other. She didn't even see me until I was five feet away. 

"She talked as though the guy weren't there, standing next to her. She asked me about my day and all that whatnot. I watched him, though. I'd never seen him before. He was an older guy, but I couldn't tell by how many years at the time. He looked at Clarice while she was speaking, the way every girl wants to be looked at sometime, and because it was unique and romantic, I remembered it for some reason. She told me later he was Arthur Fell, though she seemed to struggle with the name. I didn't lay eyes on him for another four years or so. And even after I attended some of his parties, I didn't realize it was the same man. Not until last night when I saw his eyes. 

"After that, I asked Clarice about it from time to time, but she never had a definite answer. Wild rumors were flying about her. After Bill was captured, she seemed to get depressed rather than happy. Paul was hanging around, and I thought that might've been a reason for a while, until she agreed to marry him. Why she did, I'll never know. I didn't ask her about Arthur Fell, because she seemed so upset about something. 

"I was the Maid of Honor at the wedding. I came into her room a half hour before the bridal meal, and found her lying on her bed. She looked very pretty in her flowered dress - but she was as drunk as a monkey. She had a bottle of Sauterne in one hand and a letter in the other. 

" 'Congratulate me,' she muttered, slurring quite badly. 'Never been drunk off my ass before, but oh how I enjoy it.' 

"I asked her what was wrong. I was scared. I'd never seen her like that before. 

"She told me to go downstairs and tell everyone that 'Clarice had changed her mind!' That she refused to marry Paul. Then she began to cry. She cried and cried. I managed to get her into a cold bath, but she wouldn't let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up into a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap-dish when she saw it was crumpling to pieces like snow. 

"But she didn't say another word. I gave her spirits of ammonia and put ice on her forehead and got her back in her dress, and a half hour later, we walked out of the room. The next day, she married Paul Krendler, but she shivered when she walked down the isle. 

"Well…when you came by and we discussed your neighbor, it was the first time she'd heard the name 'Fell' in years. It took her a minute to place it, but something on her face rang of recognition. After you'd gone home, she came into my room and asked me 'What Fell?' again. I described him, probably half asleep, and she said in the strangest voice it must be the man she used to know." 

Then, without any need for conclusion or epilogue, Ardelia Mapp sat back, taking a sip of her iced tea. Dissatisfied, she frowned and flavored it with more lemons to her liking, and drank again. 

Crawford, stunned beyond belief and more than a little confused, found he was incapable of words at the minute. So that's what this was. Fell and Clarice. Something about them. 

However, his first instinct was to disbelieve the tie, and he shook his head in a display of skepticism. "It was a strange coincidence," he excused. 

"But it wasn't a coincidence at all." 

"Why not?" 

"Dr. Fell bought that house so that Clarice would be just across the bay." 

A sudden image was with Crawford. Fell, looking mournfully across the bay to a tiny green light that flickered on and off…on and off. It had not been the stars to which he aspired to that evening. And then the doctor was alive to him, in loud, vibrant colors that would make any heartless man go blind with splendor. 

"Here's the favor, all right?" Mapp said, allowing a considerate moment or so to pass as Crawford pieced the bizarre puzzle together. "He wants to know if you'll invite Clarice to your house some afternoon, and then invite him over." 

The sheer modesty of the request shook Crawford like nothing he had experienced before. After all, many revelations were made in the past few minutes. Dr. Fell had waited for five years, bought a mansion where he abandoned the comfort of the stars to casual moths, just so he could 'come over' to a stranger's garden some afternoon. 

Crawford was touched by emotion and overwhelmed with increasing confusion. "Did I have to know all that before he asked such a small thing of me?" 

"He didn't want to seem rude, and he's waited so long. He thought you might be offended at the request, especially since Clarice is married now." 

"Why didn't he ask you to arrange the meeting?" 

"You're her cousin and his neighbor. I also thinks he wants to see her inside his house. To see what it could've been like." Mapp paused thoughtfully, chewing in a brief dissent into blatant crudeness on her lower lip. "I think he half expected her to wander into one of his parties some night. But she never did. Then he began to ask people casually if they knew her, and I was the first one he found. It was that night he sent for me at his dance, and you should've heard the way he worked up to it. Of course, I immediately suggested a luncheon in New York, and he snapped at me. 

" 'I don't want to put her or yourself to any trouble. I just want her next door.' I think that's what he said. When I said you knew Paul, he started to abandon the idea, until I told him you weren't too fond of him. He doesn't know Paul, nor does he care to." 

Mapp stood as the waiter arrived with the bill and expressed none of the enthusiasm Dr. Fell radiated at being the one to claim it. Respectfully, Crawford paid and tipped, and they moved their meeting outdoors. 

Something came to mind then, and it stuck with him as he walked. 'There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired.' In this case, he labeled himself under all four. Even here, on his summer off did he find himself in the midst of scandal. Though he would like to have wrestled with his conscience, Crawford found no reason not to initiate the meeting between Clarice and Dr. Fell. After all, she had nothing to strive for. Krendler the unfaithful man that didn't claim her heart as it was, an empty house full of *things* rather than precious memories. 

The woman at his side had spoken, but he wasn't paying attention. It was more a note to herself as it was. "Clarice ought to have something in her life." 

Then something occurred to him and he turned with sudden sharpness to Mapp. "Does she want to see Dr. Fell?" 

"She's not to know about it. Fell doesn't want her to know. You're supposed to just invite her over." Mapp paused, both in speech and stride, and the air suddenly seemed meaningful, significant. Watching her with ever-growing infatuation, Crawford's eyes widened as she turned to him. "But rest assured," she continued a second later. "Your cousin will thank you." 

* * *

It was dark when Mapp dropped Crawford off at West Egg, and he found he was exhausted from a day of radical discovery. The flavor of conspiracy tasted sweet, unlike he originally anticipated. To do something for Clarice made him happy, and Mapp's words of optimism were all the boasting he required to go about his neighbor's request. 

As Crawford turned to head inside, he tossed a glance at the Fell Manor, and didn't blink his surprise to see the doctor there. This time, he stood on a small landing above the garage, gaze focused obsessively on a tiny green light that smiled at them from across the bay. 

And then Crawford knew. While Clarice needed something in her life, so did this man. Whether it was each other, he wasn't sure, but there was no harm in experimentation. 

Tomorrow, he would call his cousin and invite her over sometime during the week. Tomorrow, he would go about reversing time them, however awkward it was, to bring them both five years earlier, where perhaps they stood a chance to divine intervention. 

* * *


	5. Reunion

Following his trip to town, Crawford reveled in the nonexistent obligation to the world, to his inactive duties

Following his trip to town, Crawford reveled in the nonexistent obligation to the world, to his inactive duties.The majority of the morning and afternoon was spent in the luxury of his room, surrounded by silence and the warmth of his quaint and under-exaggerated cottage.The comfort of the bedroom was not abandoned or exchanged for anything long into the hours of the day.Crawford sacrificed feeling used for feeling sluggish, and found the taste to be delightful.Never did the pains of hunger strike, nor any outside presence bother to entice him from the boughs of opulence.

One reason Crawford speculated laziness was made tolerable this singular day was knowledge of his impending task.Though he felt no obligation to stress Clarice's marital status or place in so-called society, he allowed himself to wonder what sort of man he was blessing in an implicated affair with his cousin.After all, what did he know of Fell?A person allegedly responsible for the murder of a man, Black Market scandals, ties to abusive substance distribution, foreign links to the Prime Minister, and most recently, cannibalism. Of course, those rumors were rather difficult to place faith in, and he had Fell's assurance of their falsity.

But such a man seeking a favor of this nature would say anything for guaranteed cooperation.

It came down to one fundamental factor.Who held more of Crawford's admiration, which truly deserved Clarice, from what he saw?

Dr. Fell.No question.Even if he was a swindler, he had the decency to keep private affairs out of the limelight.

It was midday before Crawford felt the need to stir from bed.This did not provoke a hurried waking.The afternoon and twilight was spent enjoying warm coffee, carefully reading every word of the paper, an activity he had never before participated in, but likewise found very enjoyable, and a slightly embarrassing viewing of Ally McBeal, a show to which he denied his closet addiction.After a while, he scrounged for food but found his stomach wasn't growling and discarded the idea.

Perhaps at seven, Crawford moved his activities to the balcony.Though still light, darkness was slowly gripping the scene, and he reveled in the knowledge of a fully wasted day.At his age, it was deserved.

He could see the green light at the end of Clarice's dock flickering.On.Off.On.Off.On.

And then that wasn't the only light.At first, the patch of trees disguised the radiance of his neighbor's lawn, but Crawford became increasingly aware of illumination from the right.This struck him as odd, for as he knew another party was scheduled for the end of this week or next, it hardly seemed proper to hold festivities on Sunday, even if Fell were not a pious man.It was tasteless for such a suggestively religious evening.

But there wasn't a peep.Surely if it were a sequel party, the sounds of music and drunken laughter would have betrayed the doctor's position by now.

At his own pace, Crawford decided to investigate this.He drank the rest of his coffee and poured a second cup before making his way to the front door and the lonesome journey across lawns.

When he saw Fell standing outside his house, watching the light that persisted incessantly in the darker direction of East Egg, Crawford reflected no surprise.The man did not look to him as he approached, though he suspected his presence had not gone unaccounted for.There was an air of preset knowledge about Fell, and Crawford knew it would take real time and talent to successfully surprise him.

"Your place looks like the World's Fair," he commented in greeting.Now he saw what the ruckus was.Every light in every room was radiating its warmth, and for a dwelling the size of Fell's, it could be the spark for which God commanded, "Let there be light."

"Does it?" replied the doctor coolly as he turned to gaze at his abode, grinning slightly."I've been glancing into some of the rooms.Care for a ride into town, old sport?"

"It's too late now."Crawford let out a breath and waited a full minute."I've talked with Ms. Mapp.I'm going to call Clarice when I go back and invite her here tomorrow."

The air of disinterest that Fell portrayed carried an air of extreme authenticity."Oh, that's all right," he replied as though the matter were trivial and unimportant to him."I don't want to put you to any trouble."

Momentarily perplexed, Crawford frowned, wondering if the offer should be retracted.However, it didn't take long for him to read into the nonchalant exterior of his new friend, and arguably, business associate.Instead, he pressed forward."What day would suit you, if tomorrow's too soon?"

"Tomorrow is fine," Fell observed, his breath, perhaps, too quick.It was the first lapse of true anxiety Crawford had ever seen, and possibly the last he would be allowed to see."Or whatever day best suits *you*.I don't want to put you to any trouble."

"You said that already.Tomorrow's fine.How about one o'clock?"

It was then the doctor turned to him, those maroon eyes alight with something new, something they lacked before.Excitement, anticipation, hope?Whatever it was, Crawford felt his doubts abandon him in that instant, and all the troubles this arrangement had caused, or would indefinitely caused, seemed a low price for unwedded bliss and neglected happiness.

This man really felt something for Clarice, and it went beyond the means of physical attraction.That much was obvious and noted, and Crawford felt more than sure about his decision, his promise.

"Thank you, Mr. Crawford," Fell said suddenly, his eyes soft and kind, though still fiery.The simplicity of his pose was disingenuous, and a vote of self-appreciation and gratitude swept over him."Thank you.Your kindness and generosity, especially to a man you rarely know, will not go unnoticed.If ever you need a favor, look no further."

"Thank you, Dr. Fell."

"No."

That gave Crawford time for pause before he realized his error."Oh…you're welcome."

"Much obliged."

"Ah," Crawford mused, his figure simultaneously engulfed by an onslaught of lights and the darkness that loomed across the bay.The summer sun set quickly these evenings."All right, that's all I wanted to say.To inform you of my updated plans in regards to your request.I'll call you if she can't make it."

With a simple nod, Fell turned his eyes back to the bay, portraying the cut of a man to which this matter had little consequence.It was an admirable state, though aggravatingly so.Crawford found himself envious at the disposition, and wished he could claim such control over awe-inspiring emotions for himself."Okay," the doctor conceded after a minute, as though his former vote of thanks was lost.Epilogue to the last or preamble to unexplored terrain, Crawford didn't know.

Then Fell smiled at him, and a familiar disarming ripple that rendered all observers helpless charged.

The farewell was informal and brief, and as Crawford made the dreary journey across the lawns, the lights from Dr. Fell's manor dimmed.He didn't bother to turn and glance back for the etch in his mind was near flawless, and he required no visual confirmation for accuracy.A man standing a lone, looking in jaded hope across the bay to a persistent light that, like his enthusiasm, refused to wither to the winds of time.

***

It wasn't until nine that evening that Crawford pieced the artistry of suggestion together and developed an idea of how to word his question.The general anxiety surrounding his looming action confused him, for in all honesty, he had no feasible reason to ask something out of the blue.Every day trials of life were always made difficult by the implication of challenge, for the knowledge that she might say no.

He had to call before the hour became intrusive.

When she picked up, she was bright and enthusiastic, her tone suffering a drastic change from the initial greeting to the announcement of who was calling.

"Paul said you were furious with me," Crawford noted conversationally, his nerves not betrayed through his tone.For that, he was glad.Unless, however, she could hear his hammering heart from her humble East Egg abode.

"Furious?" Clarice chuckled, her voice making him smile for its cheerful authenticity."Hardly!I am very happy to hear from you.To what to I owe the pleasure?"

"I was wondering if you would like to come over for lunch tomorrow.Say, around one?"

In his mind, Crawford saw Clarice's slow, excited smile, and fought to train his lips from following."Oh, Jack!" she cried."You have no idea how much I need a day out of the house.Thanks!I'll be there at 12:59, make it 12:50!"

He chuckled."Fantastic.See you tomorrow."

"All right!"

"Oh, and Clarice?"

There was a fumble for the phone as she wrestled with gravity not to drop it on the receiver."Yes?"

"Don't bring Paul."

A short lapse of confusion."What?"

"Don't bring Paul."

There was a rich chuckle, and Crawford felt a streak of unbridled relief sweep through him."Paul?" she kidded innocently."Paul who?" 

Twenty minutes later, he called Fell to confirm everything was in preparation.

The next day was the first that brought rain in the summer.It was far from a mere drizzle.When the heavens opened, downward poured an ambush of salt water, perhaps in warning of the afternoon ahead.Crawford was careful to beat dawn this morning.All through the day, Fell sent various staff members over with flowers or assorted pieces of fine china.Around twelve, he had several chefs parade inward with wonderful-smelling trays of food that were not to be unveiled until every member was present.

At 12:30, precisely, Dr. Fell himself arrived.

They sat in Crawford's parlor in silence.The clock over the mantle ticked incessantly, and for the first time since such a meeting was suggested, the doctor exhibited raw nervousness.Though he was far from what anyone would describe as jittery, Crawford detected a change in attitude from the collective serene façade he managed to portray whenever the object of his desire was implicated, or any other matter.

At 12:58, Fell stood suddenly.

"What is it?" Crawford asked."Did you hear her?"

"No," the man replied, turning to gaze out the window.A negative scanning persuaded their eyes to meet again, before the announcement came sudden and unexpected.

"I'm going home."

Crawford blinked."Why's that?"

"She won't come," the doctor prophesized."It's too late."

"Don't be silly.She has a few minutes to get here."

With a wanton expression, Fell nodded his agreement and took his seat.They waited out one o'clock, 1:01, 1:02, and surprisingly, the doctor had the composure of a rock with no regard to his prior behavior.

At 11:05, the sound of a motor turning into driveway hummed into the parlor, and they simultaneously exploded to their feet. Their eyes met, standing there as though daring the car to back away.Then Fell sat again as he won his battle to reclaim control.With a graceful, dignified motion, he indicated to the door, and Crawford immediately stepped outside to greet her.

Clarice, as he suspected, looked ravishing.There weren't any additions or subtractions, and she wasn't overly dressed.For this, he was glad.It signified the survival of the woman he knew at Quantico, that despite her marriage for all its complications and small miseries, she hadn't and would never change in the core of where it counted.

"Is this where you live?" she asked absently. "It's charming."Then, closer, she whispered as though it were a conspiracy, "Are you in love with me?Or why did I have to come alone?"

The jest on her voice was duly noted, and Crawford declined the temptation to wink."That's the secret of Castle Rackrent," he returned with a nod."Please, come inside."

Clarice smiled warmly and stepped out of the rain, having forsaken the use of an umbrella.At the door, she wiped her feet courteously but required no towel, the tolls of weather not claiming her long, and she remained relatively dry.

"This is nice, Jack," she observed sincerely, eyes running over the interior."Very nice.Very you, too.Do you plan to stay here long?"

"As long as I can manage.I'll have to see how the summer plays out…if I like it."

"I think you'll like it plenty before you leave.This always was more your sort of place rather than mine."When she felt it was safe to proceed, Clarice went about explorations of the remainder of the house.As they approached the room that harbored Fell, Crawford drew in a breath and held it until he could see that the man was no longer there.

"What nice flowers, Jack," Clarice was saying, attentions drawn to the small stand under the mirror."They're simply…" and then she lost what she was going to say, her eyes drifting upward to the reflection, and he saw that Fell had reentered the room.

For half a minute there wasn't a sound.Clarice didn't move, blink, breathe, from the looks of it.Then finally, she turned to confirm the mirror wasn't lying, that Dr. Fell was indeed in the room, no more than ten feet away from her, and unbelievingly, she let out a trembling breath.

Clarice opened her mouth to speak but couldn't summon words.When speech failed her, Crawford seized the initiative and stepped forward, determined to break the silence, to start some form of interaction, even if it was awkward."Clarice, this is my neighbor, Dr. Fell.Dr. Fell—"

"We've met before," the doctor said quietly, his gaze not breaking from hers.

And finally, she had her voice, more or less.With a squeak, Clarice tried to reply, but she reeked of uncertainty, the impact of surprise not through with its reign."We haven't met for many years."

"Five years next November," Fell noted softly, glancing to Crawford as though expecting him to keep tally.It should have seemed odd that he remembered, but there was no mention of it.

The automatic quality of his answer set them all back.Then Fell and Clarice locked eyes again, and their stare intensified.In that minute, Crawford knew they were lost, lost to the afternoon and each other.Swarming in a sea of recollection and memories before words of any sort of meaning could be exchanged.When he turned to make his leave, understanding a silent request for privacy, no one moved, or even registered his existence.

Crawford took a long walk outside, accompanied by his trusty umbrella.Should the weather be permitting, he might have stopped under a tree or somewhere opportune to read the Wall Street Journal. 

It wasn't until he made his rounds about the neighborhood that the rain stopped.However, by this time, a good half hour or so had passed, and he was ready to see what had transpired in his leave.

Dr. Fell and Clarice were sitting at either end of the sofa, looking at each other as though some question had been asked, or was in the air, and every indication of awkwardness had evaporated.Her face was aligned in something relative to tears, and when Crawford entered, she jumped up to seize the doctor's proffered handkerchief and dismissed herself.

The change in Fell was notable.He radiated a wreath of good karma, and it seemed to fill the room in the absence of a heater.

"Hello, Mr. Crawford," he greeted as though they hadn't seen each other for years.

"It's stopped raining."

"Has it?" Fell glanced to Clarice as she reentered the room, fully composed, and smiled like a meteorologist."It's stopped raining," he announced.The context of the statement made Crawford aware of his metaphor, and he likewise knew it had no ties to the weather.

Clarice understood perfectly, and her smile, worried though happy, expressed this vividly."I'm glad…" Some hesitance that passed quickly, but not quickly enough for Crawford to miss."Arthur," she concluded.

There were some other ties he would have to dig up.

Much of the day was spent chatting casually about unimportant manners.Fell referred to some of his business associates as he had that day in town, though his eyes never abandoned Clarice's; even through lunch, and Crawford understood the secret language that suggested the need to speak exclusively.Whatever bewilderment either of them carried was gone, and once more, the doctor was the irrefutable example of self-preparation and good taste.

Perhaps around four, Crawford suggested Clarice might like to see Fell's place, and they quickly cleared the table, making the journey across the lawns.

"This is your place?" she marveled with a gasp."It's breathtaking!"

"Do you like it, Clarice?" Fell carefully over annunciated each syllable, taking particular pleasure in her name that spread goosebumps over her skin.

"I love it.Absolutely."

The tour inside was brief, modesty claiming the doctor, and he neglected to show them the upstairs rooms.His eyes remained intently on her, even if she looked away briefly to ask a question about a certain item of furniture, or whatever merited reason to break their intense gaze.

Fell offered them wine, and Crawford declined.

"I better be going," he announced."It's late."

"All right, Jack," Clarice agreed, making no formal attempt to cease his departure, or even disguise her sorrow to be losing his company."Thank you for a lovely afternoon."

Crawford smiled with a nod, moving to say goodbye to Fell.When he was directly in his presence, he noticed the expression of genuine bafflement had seized him again, perhaps in reflection of the quality of his present gratification.The reward for five years of patience, and God knows what else.What had happened between these two, so obviously happy to be together, that would make her run into the arms of…Paul Krendler?Shaking his head, Crawford decided he didn't want to know today.Mention of her husband at home would do little more than upset them, and that was most certainly not his intention.

Once the farewells were out of the way, Crawford received the notion he was forgotten.Clarice took Fell's hand and squeezed it into the warmth of her own, and they shared a smile.

It wasn't until Crawford had left them together, his figure disappearing down the marble steps, that either of them spoke.Clarice drew in a breath, smiling still, and proclaimed in the quiet of the home, as though fearing her own voice, "There is much we need to discuss…"

Her words were not on the floor for deliberation. It was a statement, something they couldn't possibly avoid.However, they likewise knew today there would be no discussion.Such a conversation required scheduled time, and they had no use of that now.Now, all they had use for was each other, and compensating that which they lost over the years.

Fell spent the day at the piano, playing various concertos for her enjoyment, some composed by himself.The hours were lost to the music and her eyes and the sound of her voice.

She was really here, and God willing, she would never leave.

***


	6. Revelations

Time, however, would not stand still

Time, however, would not stand still.

At first, the rumors surrounding Dr. Fell went ignored, unacknowledged, as Crawford had long discarded the need to listen to allegations.Over the past few weeks, he came to understand the falsity behind the stories.There was Fell the Man and Fell the Myth; never did these two coincide to sprout truth behind legend.

However, there were more reliable leads.As the doctor's name emerged from the shadows, the constant whispers ceased and tales were commonplace.It wasn't until it reached the desk of the New York Times that a reporter decided to investigate the Man behind the Myth.

After a few days of quiet research, the name Hannibal Lecter floated into conspiracy, though no one knew why.More digging would revive the fugitive's record for the limelight, though over years information had become more difficult to uncover.The nonexistent news on Lecter, and the ambiguousness of his whereabouts, left the public to draw their own conclusions.Many speculated he had lost himself in a European city following his escape. Others thought he might be dead, another suicide in the pathway some serial killers tended to follow.Whatever the case was, no news of the murderer had submerged in five years, and incidentally, interest of the people had dissipated.

As a cardinal of the Behavioral Science, Crawford could remember the fluster the Bureau caused for a few months.Though he was never directly assigned to the case, he recalled his morbid interest that likewise debauched once other cases flooded the department.People lost interest in Lecter as more interesting and tangible specimen hoarded the headlines.In many ways, he seemed like a fictional aspect of society, something that wasn't *really* there.Another monster conjured up by the Halloween Candy Companies.

They had Buffalo Bill slain, Ted Kazynski in prison, and Timothy McVeigh recently executed.The monsters of their day.Those that seemed too inhumane to be alive, to have existed, yet the public had proof.

Lecter was gone, and there was no so-called proof to suggest the man had ever breathed.His records, his belongings, his practice: destroyed.There was evidence to support a theory he was educated in Oxford, but no degree or history to sustain truth.What was known of the man was limited.He was once a notorious psychiatrist in Baltimore, rich both in money and intellect.It simply wasn't a party unless Dr. Lecter was invited.Then, slowly, a series of disappearances started to play connect the dots, and all arrows pointed to him.

No one believed it.How could they?

This was around the time Buffalo Bill started kidnapping young girls and skinning them.Clarice Starling, a young trainee under cousin Jack's direction, was sent on a number of errands, second-handedly concerning the case.After a time, it was decided that the disappearances linked to Lecter were not simultaneously one in the same with Bill's history, but likewise that the doctor himself was behind it.Sufficient evidence was produced and a warrant signed out for his arrest.Lecter was only in custody for a few hours before he made his escape, taking the lives of several policemen in the process.The window of time left for shock and outrage was what he used to destroy everything connected to his name, make withdraws, and flee the country.Five years later, he was no longer a household name.People simply forgot there was ever such a man, and would just as soon dismiss the actions as something they viewed on television rather than actuality.

Suddenly, this was news again, being whispered in town but never making the headlines.On Crawford's outings, he picked up a bit here and there yet thought nothing of it.In the immediacy after Lecter's escape, the FBI received a number of pranks and false alarms, thus he was long accustomed to forgetting rumors on the streets.

Two weeks had passed since Crawford reunited Fell and Clarice, and he had not seen much of his neighbor.There was the occasional wave across the lawn if they should be collecting their newspaper at the same time, a friendly smile as either took an evening stroll.Nights were quiet, though it looked as though Dr. Fell was organizing another party.

Krendler came over one day to take Crawford to town for lunch, and most likely a second look at his mistress.Incidentally, the same day, Crawford received mail that was addressed to his neighbor and asked if it would be too much of an inconvenience if they dropped it off before their outing.

Fell was sitting on his porch, enjoying some fine wine, his eyes cast distantly over the bay when the two approached.He smiled broadly to see Crawford.

"Good day," came the conversational, cheery greeting.

"Hello, Dr. Fell.I'm afraid the mailman mistook my house for yours, though I can hardly see how."

"You haven't dropped by in a while, Jack," Fell replied, dropping the previously over-used formality without a blink, as though he had called him that since meeting."For that, I say we send the postal service a thank you note."Then, without waiting his reply, he turned to Krendler and nodded politely."I believe we have met somewhere before."

Clarice's husband blinked stupidly, obviously not remembering; yet dreaming up a false recollection to speed the process of pleasantries and get on the road."Yes.So we did.I remember very well."

"Approximately three weeks ago, I believe."

"That's right.You were with Jack, here."

"I know your wife," Fell announced, perhaps slightly aggressive, his eyes not flickering in the hint of conspiracy.

"That so?"

Crawford recognized something on Krendler's voice and didn't like it.Masterfully, he swooped in to save them all an awkward moment."We'll all come to your next party, Dr. Fell," he offered."What do you say?"

"Certainly; I'd be delighted to have you."

Fidgeting uncomfortably, Krendler wedged his hands into his pockets, motioning with his head to the car parked in the drive."Well—think we oughta start to town." 

"Please don't hurry," Dr. Fell urged softly.Wantonly, Crawford observed that while the doctor was in perfect control, he wanted to see more of Krendler.See what sort of man Clarice had married.

"Sorry," Krendler retorted shortly."I have some business to tend to in the city that simply won't wait.Maybe next time." 

Then he and Crawford were walking away in a hurry.Fell reclaimed his seat and his wine, returning to the solely pleasurable activity of studying Clarice's house across the bay, though it was debatable whether or not she was currently there, or inside his own abode.

"I wonder where in the devil he met Clarice," Krendler said gruffly as they edged into the car."He said it smugly too, did you catch that?Goddamn, that makes my head spin."

Crawford bit his tongue and decided to refrain comment on other notable indiscretions.It would do little more than cause additional trouble.Instead, he pulled out of Fell's drive, and they rode to the city in silence.

***

It never rained on the night of a Fell Party, as though the gods demanded everyone be in good spirits.The affair always started with a few people attracted by the lights, followed by a few more, until the whole place was crawling with seeming-to-be tourists.Never did they come in herds.

Crawford hadn't anticipated Krendler's attendance, but the man was evidently disturbed by the idea of Clarice running around alone.That Friday, he invited himself to tag along.They arrived fashionably late, and it was Mapp who pointed them out.

There was unpleasantness in the air, sudden brutality that hadn't been there before.Crawford pondered if it was because he had grown accustomed to this, to the life the summer introduced him to.The sneaking, the trickery, the lies.While his conscience paid no mind to the alleged wrong he committed in reacquainting two old flames, he likewise didn't want to lose all morality for the sake of time.West Egg, he came to understand, was a world on its own, built by its sole standards and figures.

When he looked at it through Clarice's eyes, he reflected sadness and respite.There were things here that could have been hers, that should rightfully be hers.

"Parties have never really been my scene," she told him after the usual greetings were exchanged.The look on her face suggested otherwise.All her features were alight, and she positively glowed with profound radiance.Life had breathed into her once more, and that which he couldn't place before came to a remarkable conclusion.

As soon as her eyes met with Fell's, Crawford knew his time for the evening was over.Krendler was chatting idly with Mapp, but he caught the forlorn longing in his wife's eyes, and darkness befouled him.

Like any gentleman, the doctor kept his distance, though the crowd seemed entirely surprised to see him lingering among them.Crawford caught his eyes flickering in her direction every few seconds while he asked if his guests were having a good time.A half hour distracting himself from the center of his focal point proved in vain, and Fell finally succumbed to temptation and approached.

"Glad you could make it, Mr. Krendler," he greeted with terrific casualness, avoiding the temptation to look at Clarice, given their proximity, without a blink."Are you enjoying the party?"

"Sure.Thanks, Dr. Fell."

Then he looked to her and held her eyes."Good evening, Clarice," he said softly.

"Hello, Dr. Fell."

They watched each other for a moment as though daring the other for dialogue.When he spoke again, his eyes didn't avert from hers, and her husband flustered in affect."Do you mind if I escort your wife to the dance floor, Mr. Krendler?"

"Actually, I—"

"I'd love to," Clarice intervened, and there was no further discussion.

And then they were gone, lost in the crowd, focused only on each other.Swirling, tumbling into oblivion where they had to live only for the pleasure they found in the other's eyes.Dr. Fell was a wonderful dancer.He seemed to command the attention and space from all his attendants.

Krendler scoffed and turned to Crawford hotly."Who is this Fell anyhow?Some drug dealer?"

"Where'd you hear that?"

"I didn't hear it.I thought it up.A lot of these newly rich people are just drug-dealers."Krendler shook his head in artificial disgust.It was clear the man's profession was not what bothered him, nor was the idea of where his money might have come from.

"Not Dr. Fell," Crawford amended, perhaps too defensive.

There was silence for a minute.

"Well," he continued, "he certainly must have put himself out to get this shindig together."Another beat of silence, then another, and another, until Krendler muttered, barely audible, "I'd like to know who he is and what he does.And I think I'll make a point of finding out."

Crawford blinked and looked at him, shrugged simply when the look was returned, and averted his attention to the vision of Dr. Fell sweeping Clarice across the floor.They were visibly oblivious to the other dancers, focused only on each other.

Krendler noticed this, too, and he scowled his rage.

Then, before either of them looked twice, Fell and Clarice were gone, and no one saw them for two or three hours.

The party was in the process of dying before Clarice surfaced, looking flushed and her eyes dancing with excitement.Crawford was relieved to see no one at her side for he feared Krendler might lose his sensibility and provoke things to become problematic.This was no place to cause a scene.

Forcefully, Krendler grasped her wrist."Where have you been?" he hissed.

"Arthur was showing me the gardens," she replied, arching a brow."He has the most *magnificent* gardens!Would you like to see them before we leave?"

"The gardens?!" he erupted, shrilling voice piercing the sound of the music in the distance, coaxing a few nosy heads to turn in their direction."You were with a stranger for three hours in the gardens?!"

"Not just the gardens," Clarice corrected, looking to Crawford instead.Her eyes reflected passive indifference, and it was clear she didn't care what Krendler speculated had occurred in her absence.Instead, she searched for a pleasant conversation, her façade carrying that of a good Sunday School girl."There were a few of us.Ardelia, too.He took us on a tour of his house."

As if her name was the magic word, there appeared Mapp, also looking slightly flushed, her hair tasseled."What a party!" she exclaimed, staggering a bit in her walk."It's true, Paul.Take a chill pill.Clarice and I…and some others I don't know, went on a small tour of the grounds.He has a great place, don't you think?"

"Yes.Wonderful," Krendler growled, his grip on Clarice's wrist tightening."Let's go."

"Goodnight, Jack!" Clarice chirped pleasantly as she was dragged to the drive."Tell Dr. Fell thanks for a lovely evening!Bye, Ardelia!"

Crawford watched the blunt anger in Krendler's eyes and twitched his discomfort.It wasn't until they pulled away and were out of sight that he felt it safe to address Mapp.

"Did you really tour with them?" he asked sharply.

"Of course not.I shacked it up with Senator Reynolds, or so he said he was Senator Reynolds.Isn't that guy supposed to be married?Anyway, no," Mapp excused, taking a sip of wine that seemed to appear in her hand."No, but I told Clarice I'd act as her alibi.She and Fell wanted to be alone."

Nodding, Crawford looked up, his eyes catching the doctor himself, trotting down the marble stairs and doing his part as host to bid the guests farewell.Taking a breath, he glanced back to Mapp, voice hushed with the unspoken question.However, he felt compelled to ask, simply to get an idea of what sort of gossip to expect in the future."Is she going to leave Paul?" 

"She should."

"But *will* she?"

With a sigh, Mapp shrugged helplessly, taking another sip of her drink."I don't know.She owes it to herself to."

Crawford nodded his agreement, eyes catching Dr. Fell once more.Their exchanged looks registered that he was asked to stay a few minutes after the party dwindled and everyone was safely on their way home.Unsurprisingly, whatever had passed between the doctor and Clarice this evening rendered him unchanged.Still the epitome of elegance, the face of preparation and good taste.

"Were they really in the garden?" he heard himself ask, barely aware he spoke.

"Yeah, I think so," Mapp replied, her tone similarly losing interest with this topic."They were for a long time, anyway.Talking.Always talking."She paused for breath, taking a final drink of her wine before placing her empty class on a nearby table."I think I'm going to go try to catch a ride home, Jack.No, no, that's all right.I want to see if anyone's willing to drive me.Besides, it's rather inconvenient for you.Right next door and all.See you later."

And then she was gone.Crawford watched as she lost herself in the crowd before turning to join Dr. Fell.

It took another hour or so before the last guest took leave, marking another notoriously successful ending to a Fell Party.Still, the skies refused to open and produce rain.That would be saved for tomorrow.

Dr. Fell enjoyed a glass of Amarone and placed it aside once Crawford declined.They took a stroll through the vacated gardens, admiring the variety of vivacious plant life, and pleasantly discussing the turnabout of the party before the doctor's usually quiet and under spoken voice announced with firm conviction, "She didn't like it."

"Of course she did."

"She didn't like it," he insisted."She didn't have a good time." Fell enjoyed his drink before turning in the direction of East Egg, unable to see, of course, her green light, but knowing that it waited beyond the trees."I feel far from her.She's stubborn, you know.Delightfully so, but it also wears on my nerves.Attempting to make such a fiery spirit understand is trying on my patience and nerves, especially now.Now that she's here."

"You mean, about the dance?"

"The dance?" Fell echoed, a hint of amusement on his voice as his body rippled with short chuckles.With the snap of a finger, he dismissed the dance and all preceding it."My dear Jack, the dance is unimportant."

"I wouldn't ask too much of her," Crawford ventured carefully, waiting for his eyes before continuing."You can't repeat the past."

Dr. Fell stared at him as though he had suggested aliens had abducted the Queen of England."Can't repeat the past?" he repeated softly.Then, with more fierceness, his jaw tightened, though not in anger."Of *course* you can."

And that opened the window of discussion, debate, and questioning.Dr. Fell told him much of the past, of the past he wished to repeat.There was much missing; much he failed to reduce into words and simplicity.Only of his history with Clarice, and what he wished would occur now.Rule of disorder and the time of disrupted function.Teacups smashed to the ground that could mystically reattach and form once more on a stand, ignobly, as though the collusion never took place.

Crawford wondered if this was some of Fell's problem.A life was in threat of being rearranged and placed to someone else's liking.The teacup he spoke of might very well be shattered with no hope of ever piecing together.

***

When she arrived the next day, Clarice parked in Crawford's drive.This was agreed upon by all parties in the event of Krendler's suspicion, while she never told him exactly where she was going, he would wind up here sooner or later.However, no one thought he would storm out in fury to find her.As it was, he was hardly home.

Clarice made the journey across lawns as Crawford had so many times and smiled to see Dr. Fell waiting for her on the porch.A paper was in one hand, a cup of coffee in the other, though both seemed to lose his interest once he saw her.

They stood apart for long seconds.

"Was it very difficult for you to get away?" Fell asked finally, glancing downward to his coffee.

"No.Paul went to town today."

"Ah."When he looked back up, his eyes captured hers in a familiar gaze, one he didn't defer for anything."I'm glad you came," he announced simply.

"I'm glad, too."

"We have much to discuss."

"Yes."

"Do you care to come inside?Perhaps some coffee?"

Clarice exerted a breath, itching to look away, but finding she was incapable of doing so.The power of his maroon pupils was not disconcerting; she had long grown used to it."Thank you.That would be nice."

Inside, tension did not dismount.They sat in silence for a few seconds in one of the parlors, drinking coffee and listening to the incessant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hallway.

When Fell decided to talk, his question was blunt and to the point, eyes imploring hers, demanding her honesty.With precise slowness, he set his cup on the coffee table, leaned forward and clasped his hands in his lap.The poise he reflected was the genuine depiction of a psychiatrist, hungry for an answer."Why did you marry him?" he asked as though it was the simplest thing in the world.

As forward as it seemed to be, Clarice knew from experience to expect no less.However, this did not ease her nerves, and her coffee cup rattled in her hand at the impact.It joined his on the table, and she refused to allow their eye contact to break.Often, in the before, they spoke with their eyes when conflicting emotions became too powerful to sort with words, to express in faith that the correct message was portrayed."I married him because you weren't here," she replied, marveling at the calm, levelness of her tone."I married him because I thought I was never going to see you again."

"I told you I would come back."

Clarice's expression tightened."So you did.There were other things."

"What other things?"

"You're a cannibal, for one thing."

At that, Dr. Fell's mouth drew into a taut smile."Ah, yes.That minor complication.Surely you have noticed the lack of cannibalistic claims in the headlines?I have politely refrained from adding any names to my tally."

"That doesn't change anything."

"Oh?"

"I didn't know who you were!" she hissed, leaning forward, eyes ablaze."You…let me believe…"

"Pish posh, Clarice.That's foolish and wrong." Dr. Fell seemed to darken as he leaned forward as well, teeth snarling a bit."You knew *exactly* who I was, and that was what scared you, wasn't it?Knowing there was something more to those headlines you became so familiar with."

"What was I supposed to do?The world called you a monster!Inhumane!" Clarice jumped to her feet, though she still refused to waver her gaze."You confused me.I was supposed to understand everything.That's the reason they put me on that damn case!Because they had the audacity to think I could relate, that I could cope."She crossed her arms."And then you came along with your fancy riddles and word games.You helped me, yes…but you were living a lie.You were someone completely different than…"

But she stopped speaking, watching in a shimmer of fear as Dr. Fell rose to his feet.There wasn't anger in his eyes, and that terrified her.The passiveness he carried was more deceptive than outrage, sneakier than respite.

"Did you ever stop to consider…" he mused after a minute, voice betraying nothing, "that you knew me too well?It didn't surprise you at all, did it?My arrest.My incarceration.My escape.What *did* surprise you was your inability to feel horror, to shudder in the repulse my name was supposed to bring.They did not have me long, Clarice.Understand, I could not have come back for you as quickly as I wanted to.I needed time.Time to relocate and allow the rumors die."Fell exerted a breath."Which is why I sent you the letter.So you would know me when I called on you.Because you understand me, even after what transpired.Because I know *you*, Clarice Starling.I know you as well as you know me."

When he said her name, her maiden name, the name she carried still, even in the so-called bonds of matrimony, she smiled widely.Then, as quickly as it was provoked, she banished her pleasure from her face and forced herself to break eye contact.With a sigh, she turned to face the wall, shaking her head."What do you want?" Clarice asked softly, the hint of evasion vanished from her tone."Honestly, Hannibal Lecter, what do you want from me?"

In her mind, she watched as the doctor's eyes widened at her use of his name.His real name.She suspected he hadn't heard it muttered in a long time, much less in blatant observation of his true identity.Nevertheless, there was little time to savor the image.The next thing she knew she was pinned against the wall and he was holding her immotile by her arms.Breath hot on her face, it took every ounce of herself not to swoon.Simply the intensity of his eyes excited her.

"What do I want from you?" he growled, grip on her arms tightening slightly."I want an answer.Why?Why did you marry Paul Krendler?Why didn't you wait, as I asked, for my return?"

"Let me go!"

"Tell me, Clarice."It was a demand, though a quiet one.And it broke her.

His face carried no reaction as she burst into tears, fighting the temptation to forfeit all strength and fall into his arms.Through blurry eyes, she regarded his composure with mixed honor and bitterness."Because," she choked, "because FBI agents aren't supposed to fall in love with fugitives.Haven't you heard?FBI agents aren't supposed to fall in love with fugitives!"

One of her arms was released, the grip on the other tightened and she felt his thumb tracing water from her face.When she could see again, she felt a pain at the lackluster sadness in his expression."So you ran to Paul Krendler?" he asked."You ran to him for consolation of the monster I am?"

"No!" Clarice cried defiantly."No…I went to Paul because I hated him.Because I still hate him.I didn't want to be pursued, and I didn't want to forget you.Haven't you heard that I sleep in a room down the hall from him with a gun under my pillow?"

At that, Fell cracked a brief smile, and finally he released her."That's my girl."

They stood that way for a minute, regrouping breath and control.Clarice's tears dried and she leaned wearily against the wall.Though tiring, having this conversation with him in reality was refreshing.After five years of dueling in her mind, she reveled in the real thing.

Then his hand was at her face again, caressing in familiar appreciation."What about now, Clarice?Do you still shun me, or do you see that I am the same person now that I was then?The very same man you say you fell in love with?"

"You're still a killer," she said hesitantly.

"I haven't killed in quite a while, but yes.It is a practice I have not excluded from probability."He breathed slowly."I will not lie to you to get what I want, but you would not be here if you thought I was a monster."

With a growl that flustered in the back of her throat, Clarice threw her head back."All right!" she surrendered."I don't think you're a monster.Did you really need me to say that?"

"Yes," he replied."Because you're here.I've waited a long time to have you here.I need to know this is where you want to be.That whatever occurred in the past *is* in the past.Tell me, Clarice…do you want to leave now?Our closure has been made, I'd say.Do you want to return to your empty house as your dear husband runs after various skirts in town, making sure he is not denied what you refuse to give him?"He moved closer still, arms outstretched to either side of the wall, securing her there."Or do you want to stay?Here?Alone in a very large house with a very dangerous man.Is that what you want, Clarrriiiiccceee?"

Furiously, she shook her head, knowing her answer would seal her fate."I can't!"

"Tell me."

"I can't…"

"Clarice…" His voice was low and vibrant in warning.

"Fine!" she cried at last."I want to stay.Here.Always.I never want to go back."Despite her revelation, her eyes were on fire, and she burned into him."Is *that* what you wanted to hear, you arrogant prick?"

And then there was nothing but his satisfied smile as his hands leapt from the wall and grasped her his, pulling her sharply to him."Precisely," he growled as he devoured her mouth with his.

There was no reason to fight, no use for it.Clarice felt something primal arise within her, and she could do nothing but yield to her innermost instincts. Their verbal battle extended to their lips, groans of half-hearted completion escaping their throats at the unity, even such as this, simply being together purchased.After a few sweet minutes, his arms were around her, his mouth hungrily exploring her neck, her brow, her shoulder, even through the layers of clothing.It seemed there weren't enough places on her body for his lips to find, though she hardly noticed.

"Tell me something, Clarice," he whispered, tugging on her ear with his teeth."Did Paul Krendler carry you over the threshold on your honeymoon?"

"My honeymoon was spent in Vegas.I was at another hotel.I snuck out as he was losing money at the slot machines."

"My poor darling," he chuckled."What horrid place, but oddly expectant of Paul.Do you think it would be tactless to carry you over the threshold now?"But there was no room for reply.Before she could find her voice, Clarice found herself in his arms.He kissed her again, but briefly, and then they were moving.Out of the room.Out of the room, and toward the staircase.

"Well since you asked so nicely," she kidded.

An appreciative chortle was her response.Once in the secluded darkness of his upper chamber, Clarice was thrown in a bouncing motion to the bed, and devoured in a sea of warmth and flesh and motion.

***

It was when curiosity about Fell was at its highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night.Perhaps a week or so after his last party, and no one had seen him.As though the name he built himself on was dying, and the physical form was melting into something that lurked in shadows.Word spread that he had fired all his servants and hired a new crew, though no on stated why. Out of neighborly kindness, Crawford went to investigate the new mystery.

The doctor was standing on the edge of his lawn, and his eyes were clouded with something unfamiliar.Still, he watched Clarice's dock with persistence.Crawford allowed himself to wonder if Fell would insist to study the green light even if he and Clarice married.It seemed probable.

Without looking to him, Dr. Fell nodded his acknowledgement."Good evening, old sport."

"Hello, Doctor.I hear you canned your servants."The need for preamble was lost.Fell was forward with him, and it seemed only courteous to return the favor.

The answer came without wry looks at presumptions.Instead, the doctor nodded."I wanted people who won't gossip," he explained softly."Clarice comes over quite often in the afternoons."

That made sense.Crawford nodded his understanding, eyes following his own as they landed across the bay."The rumors some people spread these days are surprising.I've heard several about you."

"Yes, I know," Fell replied, then he looked interested."What do they say?"

Instantly, a million things jumped to mind, a million things he could report.Crawford had an inkling that Fell knew everything that was said about him, that he was merely curious to observe how close it breeched to the truth."It's not important," he dismissed.

"I think it is.To you, Jack.You've heard these rumors for the better part of the summer, and yet you neglect to report them to me.Do you fear finding yourself?"With a sigh, he shrugged."I suppose it's for the best.Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I'll be retiring for the evening."Then, as an afterthought: "You should come by more often."

Frivolously, Fell turned and began to walk solemnly back to his mansion, and for a minute, Crawford feared he had said something to offend.There was a voice that scolded him for denying the doctor his answer.And without merit, he knew the best thing to do was sooth, and leave on a good note.After all, they had endured much together, plotted, and brought each other to such definitive statures over the summer.

"They say you killed a man," he heard himself blurt.

Dr. Fell froze, his posture perfecting to a standstill.Then, with precision, he turned back to Crawford, presenting him with the familiar spark in his eyes.The dancing of maroon pupils.The gaze that allegedly belonged to the devil.With a smile, he shrugged simply, and remarked pointedly, "Just one?"

Then he was gone, walking away, and Crawford stood there in his dumbfound glory, left to sort the reception to the analysis of his own conclusion.

***


	7. Confrontation and Decision

The need for secrecy seemed to dwindle over the next few days Gateway Normal Gateway 1 1 2001-10-24T03:34:00Z 2001-10-24T03:35:00Z 17 5107 29114 242 58 35754 9.2720 

The need for secrecy seemed to dwindle over the next few days.  Since her disclosure, Clarice became open with her affair.  Though she didn't publicize indiscretions, she likewise made no attempt to cover it up.  No longer did she make use of Crawford's driveway.  The impending confrontation with Krendler robbed her of self-awareness.  After all, she had lived for five years knowing of his numerous dealings.  

It failed to strike her as odd that she should have such revelations, even with the strict and morally aligned upbringing she endured.  After she left the Fell Manor a few weeks before, changed in ways she had never fathomed, Clarice allowed herself time to pause and reflect.  Embracing her new decision, the choice she made, she came to the realization within herself that being with Fell – or Dr. Lecter, as she knew him before her wedding – took nothing from her values.  Those values that had betrayed her at every turn, that convinced her to marry a pompous ass like Krendler instead of waiting for the man she knew she loved.  

Clarice understood that evil acts are more susceptible people who have higher morality.  In the perverse order of the universe, she recognized Fell has having more ethics than anyone she knew, even if he didn't realize it himself.  There were deeds of malevolence, of course, those committed for the sole purpose of hurting others.  However, Fell was different.  Never in the duration of any crime had he done something against his principles.

Perhaps Hannibal Lecter's greatest restriction was the denial of his higher beliefs, those that kept him from greater acts of destruction.

The afternoons were blissful.  It was as if there was no life that concerned Paul Krendler, as if a day hadn't passed since they were together.  Long conversations, warm lunches, leisure lovemaking.  Compensated time for so much lost.  Inside the Fell Manor, there was no marriage certificate binding her to another, no false identity to live up to.  There was only Hannibal Lecter and Clarice Starling.  Dr. Arthur Fell, beside the alias, did not exist.  The name meant nothing to her; therefore she did not use it.

Today, he surprised her.  

Instead of the common, pleasant greeting, Fell answered the door with an expressionless look on his face.  "I want you to leave Paul," he announced without preamble.

Likewise, Clarice failed to miss a beat.  Eyes widening slightly at the blunt request, she collected her poise and returned without hesitation, "In a heartbeat."  

The revelation lent them reason to pause before she stepped in, and he searched her eyes for authenticity.  When he saw that she would, that Paul Krendler would be in their past, and the future left open to him, Fell moved forward swiftly and took her in his arms, hugging her profusely and smothering her face with hot kisses.

When she arrived home that day, Clarice phoned Crawford and told him she was inviting him and Fell to join her for lunch tomorrow.  The implication in her voice hinted toward the admission of the affair and her decision to leave her husband, though she refused to forwardly confess any motive.     

The environment at the luncheon was awkward and warm.  Mapp was present, lounged comfortably next to Crawford.  Krendler sat at one end and Clarice at the other.  Predictably – though fashionably – late, Dr. Fell was the last to enter.  Once he did, his eyes never left his prize, even if she turned to answer an inquiry from Mapp or Crawford.  

And then it appeared as though Fell and Clarice wished to bring the matter to discussion.  They might have had the butler not summoned Krendler to answer the phone.

"That's Paul's girl, I'll bet," Mapp speculated in a whispered hush.

Then they were silent.  The voice in the hall elevated with irritability, disabling any prolonged discussion.  "Fine, then.  I won't sell you the car.  No!  I'm under no obligation to you.  As for you bothering me at lunch, I won't fucking deal with it!"

Clarice leaned forward as though interested, though her view of the hall was obscured by a plant display.  Shrugging, she reclined again and turned to Crawford.  "He's holding down the receiver, I'll bet," she reported with cynicism.

  
"No, he's not," he disagreed.  "It's a bona-fide deal.  I happen to know about it."

As Krendler slammed the phone on the receiver and moved to rejoin them, Clarice jumped from her seat and cried, "Make us a cold drink, would you?"  

It was as if she asked him to don a pair of fishnets and perform a rendition of 'Sweet Transvestite.'  All became astutely aware that these two hardly conversed, and the term 'matrimony' to describe their relationship was ridiculous on more levels than their obvious lack of a sex-life.  They never lived to ask anything of each other; perhaps they only spoke when company was in the house.  Nevertheless, Krendler nodded, determined to maintain the façade of a dedicated husband, the scorned victim of a poorly received marriage.  

Once he was gone, Clarice locked eyes with Fell again and she moved for him, taking his face in her hands and kissing him.  "You know I love you," she murmured, and smiled as he smiled.  

"You forget there's a lady present," quipped Mapp, arising a laugh from everyone present.  Dutifully, Clarice returned to her seat.  

When Krendler returned, he acted bizarre, issuing drinks and carrying the image of one of Fell's oldest friends.  "Come outside," he suggested.  "I'd like you to have a look at the place."

Everyone followed to the veranda.  There, Clarice's eyes fell to a small boat that sailed across the bay.  

"I'm right across from you," Fell remarked, raising a hand and pointing in the direction of his palace at West Egg.

"So you are."  

Their eyes held and Crawford cleared his throat.  "Who wants to go to town?" he suggested, though attention by all parties was kept steadfast on Clarice and Fell, who were beyond enamored and could do nothing but stare at the other.  

"Ah," she said finally.  "You look so cool."  They were alone in space until she glanced down to her clasped hands.  "You always look so cool."

She had told him that she loved him not five minutes before, and Paul Krendler saw.  Astonishment enveloped his face as his mouth opened a little.  He traded looks from Fell to Clarice, looking at her as though he had just recognized her as someone he knew from long ago.

"All right," he said quietly, as though struggling for control.  "Let's go to town.  Come on—we're all going to town."  Moving for the door, he turned to look back to his wife and the doctor.  No one had moved.  Temper cracked, but only a little.  The fight for it was visible, flashing behind fiery pupils.  "Come on!  What's the hold up?  If we're going to town, let's start."

The five disbanded quickly, eager to break the tension, even if it was destined to accumulate wherever travels ended.  Crawford and Fell eagerly evacuated the house and recollected outside.  Neither commented on the obvious breech in etiquette, though from the curious gaze they traded, the unspoken question of why they were going this far, why Clarice simply hadn't announced the affair, hung heavily over them.

Finally, reveling in their silence, the doctor said in a soft tone, voice aligned with the explanation of dead-ends, "I can't say anything in his house, old sport.  That's his territory, his alleged sanctuary.  Where he lives in the mock of wedded bliss."

There was no need to comment on the wisdom of that decision.  Silence again dominated, and minds wandered to their random happy places.  Then, without thinking, Crawford drew in a breath and observed, barely aware he spoke: "She's got an indiscreet voice.  It's changed since I last chatted with her.  It's full of…" and he hesitated, thumbing for the correct word.

A small, ambiguous smile birthed on Fell's lips, and an air of newfound reassurance washed over him.  Nodding his agreement, he released a contented sigh and decided,  "Her voice is full of freedom."

That was it.  Light of realization, for what it was, shone on the two, standing side-by-side in continued silence.  And Crawford, who previously associated Clarice's tone with the melancholy nature of her domestic situation, now recognized the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it.  The sound of doves fluttering from opened cages.  Beset to the wind and discarding old shackles and restraints.  And both knew, dawned to the new horizon, that whatever liberation Clarice had discovered would not be forsook for societal views.  

The women emerged first, and all hint of conversation between Crawford and Fell dissipated.  Krendler was the last to exit.

"Shall we all go in my car?" the doctor suggested, careful to not look at Clarice.

"Is it a standard shift?" Krendler demanded as though it was trivial.

"Automatic."

"Well, you take my coupé and let me drive your car to town." 

Dr. Fell's eyes narrowed and his distaste was immediately registered.  Eying Clarice skeptically, as though permitted by the proposal, he objected, "I don't believe I have fueled in a while."  It was as though the previous offer to drive them all to town was dismissed, though no one noticed.  Even the doctor's enemies couldn't succumb to question his judgment.

"There's plenty," Krendler declared boisterously.  "And if it runs out, I can stop at the gas station."

Crawford established eye contact with Clarice knowingly.  When she nodded her acknowledgement and glanced to her husband in vague unfamiliarity and similar recognition, and Fell likewise came to a stunning awareness.

"Come on, Clarice," Krendler instructed, nodding to the doctor's car.  "I'll take you in this circus wagon."  He opened the door, but she wiggled away from his dominative grasp and moved defensively to Fell's side.

"You take Jack and Ardelia," she suggested, though all present could tell the issue was not up for debate.  "We'll follow in the coupé."  Without allowing room for objection, she touched Fell's arm and they slipped into the car wordlessly.

When the dust from their abrupt departure dwindled, Krendler hotly spun to Crawford with burning eyes.  "Did you see that?"

"See what?" came the innocent reply.

And just like that, the final pieces of the puzzle fell together.  To witness such an epiphany was both admirable and amusing at the same time.  Krendler's look betrayed the twilight of ignorance, and both Crawford and Mapp became astutely aware that he knew.

Bitterness, inevitably, was the first result.  "You think I'm stupid, don't you?" he accused through gritted teeth.  "Maybe I am.  But not without surprises of my own.  I've done an investigation of this man."  The word 'investigation' hovered over them in discreet hostility as they settled into the vehicle.

Once inside, Mapp decided to comment on his revelation.  Arching a sardonic brow, she threw an arm across the passenger seat and asked honestly, "So, you found he was an Oxford man?"

"An Oxford man?!" Krendler erupted.  "Like hell he is!"

Mapp was insufferably loyal, and it made Crawford swell with admiration.  "Nevertheless, he's an Oxford man."

"Oxford, New Mexico," Krendler snorted contemptuously.  "Or something like that."

A growl of aggravation arose in her throat.  "Listen, Paul.  If you're such an ass, why did you invite him to lunch?"

"Clarice invited him; she knew him before we were married—God knows where!"

Desperate to change the subject, as confrontation always made him uneasy, Crawford piped from the back,  "What did Dr. Fell say about the gas?"  No one looked to the gauge.

"We've got enough to get us to town," Krendler dismissed.

"But there's a garage right here," objected Mapp.  "I don't want to get stalled.  Pull over, Paul."

There was an impatient throw of the breaks as the car came to a halt under Pilcher's sign.  After a minute, the owner peered into the drive, as though not anticipating company this afternoon.  It was another few seconds before he decided to serve them.

"Let's have some gas!" Krendler commanded roughly.  "What do you think we stopped for—to admire the view?"

"I'm sick," Pilcher excused, moving slowly to pump, though without conviction.  "Been sick all day?"

"What's the matter?" Krendler questioned out of courtesy, mildly concerned.

"I'm all run down."

"Well, should I help myself?  You sounded well enough on the phone."

Noting the persistent annoyance in Krendler's voice, Pilcher shook his head in discharge and quickly closed the space between himself and the pump.  "I didn't mean to interrupt your lunch," he admitted softly.  "But I need the money pretty bad, and I was wondering what you were going to do with your old car."

"How do you like this one?  I bought it last week."

Crawford felt a sting of warning, and he and Mapp exchanged troublesome glances.  In the front seat, oblivious to the movement behind him, Krendler failed to flicker their unspoken worries to attention.

"It's a Jaguar…" Pilcher observed.

"Like to buy it?"

"Big chance."  There was a faint smile, and Crawford ignored the temptation to whack the driver upside the head.  Curiosity battled with sensibility and won.  "No, but I could make some money on the other."

"What do you want money for, all of a sudden?"

"I've been here too long.  I want to get away.  My wife and I want to head west."

There was a long pause as Krendler absorbed this.  "Gracie does?"

"She's been talking about it for ten years."  Pilcher rested for a moment against the pump.  "And now she's going whether she wants to or not.  I'm going to get her away."

For a minute, Crawford feared Krendler might lash out.  The second pause was longer and more significant, the icing to cover the cake of new declarations the day brought.  Instead, when the man spoke again, his tone was low and demanding, though hardly irrational.  "What do I owe you?"

Pilcher continued as though he hadn't heard him.  "I just got…I found something out the last two days.  That's why I want to get away.  That's why I've been bothering you about the car."

Found something out.

Pilcher knew.  But he didn't know *who*.

If Krendler registered this, he didn't betray it.  "What do I owe you?"

"Seventeen fifty."

In the casual air of things, Crawford tied several loose ends to mind.  Pilcher's suspicions hadn't alighted on Krendler, though he knew Gracie had some sort of life that was not apart of his world, and the shock invariably made him ill.  Glances were divided between him and Krendler, who had made a parallel discovery less than an hour before, and it dawned on Crawford that these men were the same.  Indifferent to intelligence or race, they were one in the same.

"I'll let you have the car tomorrow," Krendler announced suddenly.  "I'll send it over."

And then they were pulling away.  Crawford was relieved to be spared of the task of intervening before Dr. Fell's car was sold, and as he turned to thank Pilcher on their way out, his eyes landed on the windows over the garage.  There stood Gracie, gazing down on them.  In the days to come, he would register the look on her face that he first believed to be anger.  Not anger, of course not.  Jealous terror and fear, fixated on Ardelia Mapp and not Krendler, whom she mistook for Clarice.

*            *            *

It was said that there was no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind, and Crawford called upon that as he knew Krendler was on the whips of panic.  Both his wife and his mistress, until an hour ago secure and inviolate, were slipping impulsively from his control.  Such anxiety caused him to speed, and the Jaguar was going well above eighty before slowing when they saw the blue coupé ahead.  

Once everyone was gathered in town without destination, Krendler decided to move the meeting to the parlor of a suite in the Plaza Hotel.

As everywhere else in this small section of the country, the air conditioner was broken.  Fanning herself profusely, Clarice turned to Mapp, who sat conveniently by the window.  "Would you open that?"

"It is open."

"Open another."

"There aren't anymore."

A growl of frustration arose in Clarice's throat, but she was dismissed by Krendler's impatient gaze.  "The thing to do is forget about the heat," he sneered.  "You'll make things ten times worse by bitching about it."

"Why not let her alone, old sport?" Dr. Fell voiced quietly.  "You are the one that suggested we come to town."

Silence followed.

"That's a great expression of yours, isn't it?" Krendler demanded a minute later.

"What is?"

"That 'old sport' business.  Where did you pick that up?"

Clarice, from her corner, flustered.  "Paul—"

"Shut up.  It's only a question.  I have several."

Dr. Fell considered for a minute, his index finger pressed to pursed lips.  Then, slowly, with quiet elegance, he rose to the occasion.  "Is that so?" he mused.  "Oh, pray ask, but do keep Clarice out of this."

Despite the implied threat in the doctor's voice, Krendler shook his head in firm disagreement.  "She's my wife.  I'll keep her in or out of whatever I decide.  It's best you remember that."

"Time, Paul, will betray what you are.  Now, ask your question."

For an instant, Krendler was caught off guard; unsure whether it was appropriate to be insulted.  It didn't seem to matter, for he read what he cared to in any situation.  Nevertheless, he discarded the remark and nodded, eyes still stormy.  "All right.  I understand you're an Oxford man."

"Not exactly."

"Oh?" His eyebrows perked as though to exhibit his lack of surprise, and further flaunt the idea that he had known all along.  "I thought you went to Oxford."

"Yes—I went there."

A pause.  Then Krendler's voice, incredulous and insulting:  "You must have gone there the time the Cubs won the World Series."

The poor reference coaxed a smile from Dr. Fell, though he decided not to comment on the suggestion.  "I told you I went there."

"I heard you, but I'd like to know when."

"Early in my college days.  I only stayed five months, thus why I cannot really call myself an Oxford man."

Krendler glanced around to see if his companions reflected his disbelief, but all eyes were fixated in roaring approval on Fell.

Smiling quaintly, the doctor placed both arms behind him and tilted his head coyly to the side.  "Is that all, Mr. Krendler, or do you have any further inquiries about my past?"

Eyes flashing in unpronounced anger, he shook his head and waved his hand.  "One more question."

"Go on."

"What kind of bullshit are you trying to cause in my house, anyhow?"

A collective, though silent, sigh of relief echoed throughout the room.  At last, they would discuss this.

However, it was Clarice who answered.  "He isn't doing anything!  You're the one yelling at everyone.  Exercise some self-control."

"Self-control!" Krendler screamed.  "I suppose the latest is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere fuck your wife!"  With eyes aflame, he turned back to Fell, who seemed neither disturbed or appalled by the accusation, rather content and amused, which only added to his infuriation.  "I know I'm not very popular.  I don't give big parties.  I suppose you've got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends—in the modern world."

And just like that, Paul Krendler's transition from libertine to prig was complete.

"Are you quite finished?" Fell asked a minute later when the high-pitched tones of his outburst were through echoing off the walls.

"What!"

"I have something to tell you…" The doctor looked to Clarice, as if asking her final permission.  When she nodded, he turned back to Krendler and continued, "Your wife doesn't love you.  She's never loved you.  She loves me."

"Fucking nut!"

            Fell cringed at that, but only for a second.  Unlike his opponent, he carried the ability to keep his wits about him.  "She's never loved you, do you hear?  She married you because I was incarcerated, you see.  However briefly.  I admit her judgment on that was rather questionable.  It was a terrible mistake, but she has never loved anyone except me."

"They said you were psycho, but I never imagined this!" Desperately, Krendler tossed a glance to Clarice, who did nothing to help.  "Tell me what the fuck is going on!"

"I've told you what is going on," replied the doctor calmly.  "For five years now.  You truly lack perspective."

Sharply, Krendler turned his accusatory gaze to his wife once more.  "You've been seeing this fucker for five years?!"

Again, Fell intervened.  "Not seeing.  No, we couldn't meet.  But we loved each other during our time apart.  I used to chuckle, really, to think it never occurred to you."

"Oh, is that all?  You're crazy!  I don't know what happened five years ago.  Clarice and I weren't married then.  I'll be damned if I see how you got a mile of her unless you delivered our paper.  But the rest of that is a mother-fucking lie.  Clarice loved me when she married me and she loves me now!"

The first interception of this toss of dialogue she successfully executed was not constructed with words.  All eyes fell on Clarice as she burst out laughing.  Hard, uncontrollable chuckles that seemed to demand every ounce of strength, as though the very foundation of her will was reluctant to cease mirth.

Dignity drained continuously from Krendler, who continued despite this in a radical attempt to claim something back.  "She does, though.  Her problem is that sometimes she gets stupid and doesn't know what she's doing.  And what's more, I love Clarice, too."  At that, his wife's hysterics elevated.  "Once in a while, I go off on a spree and make an ass out of myself, but I always come back."

Then the discussion ceased as everyone waited for Clarice to rejoin them.  When she realized the silent inquiry for comment, her chuckles abruptly stopped.  "That's bullshit," she declared.  "We have no marriage.  We never have.  Do us both a favor and shut the fuck up.  You always come back?  I wish you wouldn't!"

Clarice was the fire and Fell's voice, the water that defused all argument.  Soothingly, he reached for her arm and drained her of fight.  "My dear, that's over now.  It doesn't matter anymore.  Just tell him the truth—let him hear it from your lips, lest he never believe you.  Tell him you never loved him."

At that, she chuckled.  "Easy!"  Looking steadily to Krendler, her eyes burned with conviction.  "I never loved you.  Ever.  You disgust me.  You make my skin crawl."  There was a moment's hesitation, then she added as an afterthought:  "The only reason I married you was to be assured of never having another sexual drive for the rest of my life."

The composure by which Fell was renowned dropped instantly with an outburst of uncontrollable chuckles.  

"As if it mattered to you," Clarice concluded with a nod, glancing with amusement to the doctor's own hysterics, which had so briefly before been hers.

Hurt and belittled, confidence vacated Krendler's tone, and his eyes reflected the need to continue to reach for what was no longer there.  The last resort.  "Of course it matters," he argued.  "I'm going to take better care of you from now on."

Leisurely, Fell recovered and shook his head.  "You don't understand.  You're not going to take care of her anymore."

"I'm not?  Why's that?"

"Clarice is leaving you."

"Like hell she is!"

Fell glanced to Clarice, who confirmed:  "I am.  I should have long ago."

All façade fell, all hint of professionalism or self-control.  "She's not leaving me!"  Krendler insisted in a shrill panic.  "Certainly not for a madman who'd eat the minister at their wedding!"

And then the fun drained from the confrontation.  Warning shot behind Clarice's eyes and she turned in a fury to Fell, unwilling to let her husband's last accusation seep in.  "I won't stand this!" she announced to the room, though looking to him.  "Please, let's get out of here!"

Krendler paraded forward until he was directly in front of Fell, ignoring her pleas of protest.  "Who are you, anyway?" he demanded.  "You're one of those kind who hangs around Barney Jackson—I know that much.  I've made an investigation of your business.  I'll continue that tomorrow."

"You can't suit yourself about that," Fell returned, minimally concerned.

"Yeah?  How about what I've found so far?  Your name's not Arthur Fell at all, is it?  It's Hannibal something or other."

Still, amazingly, the doctor refrained from exhibiting earthly distress.  "What about it?"

"How about the way you escaped your transfer from the jail to the asylum?  Killed a few policemen, tore the face off—"

Fell shook his head dismissively, and tension again dropped to his favor.  A man that could compose himself like that under such allegations maintained the strain of belief and decency, and he knew this.  "That's invalid and wrong," he decided, "and you're in no place to further such a preposterous investigation without breeching national security.  And you can't afford to contact the authorities for so-called confirmation, can you?  Not for your own acts of – oh let's say – indiscretion."

That threw Krendler off balance, and in his confusion, he lost more of the floor.  "What the flying fuck are you talking about?"

"Let's just say, I've done an investigation of my own.  It's a wonder those Black Market rumors circulating myself never extended to your doorstep."

"PLEASE!" Clarice exclaimed, her features outlined in more panic than either Krendler or Fell.  A more observant person would have noticed her concern for the doctor's continued freedom, but no one focused on her part.  All eyes were profoundly set on the two conflicting men.  It wasn't until Fell looked to her that she continued, "I can't take any more of this."

"Come on," Krendler said suddenly, reaching for her arm.  "We're leaving."

Clarice shook her head and pulled out of his grasp.  "I'm riding with Arthur."

"No you're not."

"Watch me."  

And then, without another word, they were gone.  Crawford and Mapp took a minute to breathe their relief that it was over. This painful confrontation for which no one sided with the alleged victim.  It was now simply a matter of getting home in one piece.  

Krendler blinked stupidly long seconds after their departure, a blank look about his face.  The unwillingness to believe what he knew to be true, what he saw pass.  "What the hell just happened?"

Unsympathetically, Mapp stood and shrugged.  "You got dumped, Paul.  About time, too.  Ass.  So, it's okay for you to go get your booty, but the minute Clarice wants—"

"I went out because she was neglecting her duties as a wife!" Krendler snapped defensively.  "I did what any man would do!"

"I get the feeling that not only will she not have that problem with Dr. Fell," Mapp remarked, smiling as she rubbed salt on the wound, "but that he wouldn't go chase every thing with a bra-size."  Not taking the time to grin victoriously at his astounded expression, she turned to Crawford and said, "Ready?  Let's go."

*            *            *

Clarice was speeding down the highway – much too fast, but adrenaline pumped through her at her release.  The initial pride in driving a Jaguar was sacrificed to the blissful environment of emotional declaration.  Of cutting loose strings. Though her eyes were kept tightly on the road, she was in the midst of heavy dialogue with Dr. Fell – Lecter.  She would call him Hannibal from now on.  So enamored was she in her conversation, that she barely had time to swerve when Gracie raced into the middle of the road, waving her arms in desperation.

"Clarice!" Lecter hissed, lurching forward for the wheel.  

There was a quick splatter of blood as the girl rolled up the windshield, inflicting it with a large crack that was not aided by the swerve.  The scream that arose belonged to Clarice – not their victim.  And then, within two seconds, it was over, and they raced onward.

"Oh my God!" she gasped, quivering hands struggling to maintain a secure hold on the wheel, overpowered by his.  "Did…is she…?"

Emitting a breath, Lecter's eyes rested on her, trying to sooth her, perhaps with his gaze.  When her nerves failed to calm, he said softly, "I'd say so."

"Oh God!"

"Calm yourself."  

"But…I…I…"

"It wasn't your fault."

"I hit her!  And I was speeding!"

"She was wearing dark clothing and she ran in the middle of the street," Lecter observed.  "You would have inevitably hit her from any angle, at any speed.  Now Clarice…this is very important."

She was calming slowly, enough to devote some attention to him while maintaining a collective speed.  "Yes?"

"Any second thoughts you must consider now.  Are you positively sure…"

"Hannibal, I just *hit* a person on the fucking road.  Do you really have to go into a little insecure speech now?  I'm going home, but only to get my things.  Then we're out of here."

With a smile, he sat back and nodded.  "We'll talk more of this later," he decided.  "When we're not so rushed."

*            *            *

They saw three or four automobiles and a crowd when the coupé was still a distance away.

"Wreck!" declared Krendler.  "That's good.  Noble'll have a little business at last."  Though he slowed, he gave no indication of stopping.  Nerves were still running high from his encounter with Fell, and there was an unspoken anxiousness to get home.  However, as they started to pass, all caught the expressions of the people at the garage, and he immediately put on the brakes.

"We'll take a look," he announced doubtfully.  "Just a look."

It was certainly more than just a look.  Krendler sped ahead of Crawford and Mapp, and though he made not a peep, all who knew him as he beheld Gracie's body, wrapped in two blankets, could hear his silent wail.  Crawford watched him for long seconds, drinking in his reaction, though getting nothing readable.  A distant look of loss befouled his eyes, glossy, though not with tears.  

Gracie lay in the midst of a circle of people, Pilcher, inconsolable, talking with an officer in the other room. 

Krendler didn't stay long; couldn't.  Just long enough to discover that a car resembling Fell's was the perpetrator, that they didn't stop or slow down, and that she was killed instantly.

At this news, all admiration Crawford ever felt for the doctor vanished.  The ride back was silent.  No one commented on the turnabout of events, an unsettling cold washing them.  Likewise, sympathies reversed, as did the revelations of the last hour.

*            *            *

Even in her hurry, Clarice was not fast enough to beat Paul Krendler when he was angry.  She stood in guest room, where she kept most of her clothes, and though her movements were furious, nerves won over collectiveness.  Her suitcase was only half-packed when her husband paraded inward, and she felt something freeze within her.

The slamming door behind her announced his entrance, though she didn't turn to face him.  Nor did she acknowledge his voice when he declared, "Your lover's a murderer."

Nothing.

"Clarice!"

"I've known this for a while, Paul," she replied calmly.  "You're a bit late the uptake."

"This is no time to jest!  Gracie Pilcher is dead!"

At that, she turned to him, her eyes ablaze with something unreadable, though it wasn't regret.  To feel regret with this man present was to beat herself senseless – it accomplished nothing.  Krendler didn't baulk at the uncaring gaze, though he did blank to see her freedom, her liberation, all things Crawford saw before, things they had spent the day trying to explain.

Perhaps he saw them earlier.  Perhaps he was surprised to see them still.

"You're still going with him?"

"I love him, Paul.  Don't pretend we had a marriage.  Let me go."

"He killed Gracie!"

"Gracie was hit by a car, yes, but there is no way to prove which. Not right now, anyway," she replied calmly.  "And why do you care so much?"

There was nothing at first.  Gazes locked and held, staring each other down, these two people who hated each other with such venom, such respite, that the institution of marriage was turned into a mockery.  It didn't last long, however.  The last strains of Krendler's short temper snapped when she failed to falter, and the sheer speed at which he moved surprised her more than action.  His clammy hands grasped her arms tightly, and he reeled her into him, pulling her with force to his chest.

Clarice fought with veracity, growling at him in her rage.  "What the hell are you doing?!" she screamed.  "Let go of me!"

But he did no such thing.  For a minute, she feared he would attempt to kiss her, but he seemed to know better.  Instead, his grip tightened, not loosening as she spat on him, and finally pushing her back onto the bed, where he regarded her with uninterested eyes.

"You're not even worth that," he snarled.  "But hell if I let you out of this house."

Clarice's eyes widened as he moved for the door.  "I might not be a smart man," he continued.  "But I do know it's a hell of a lot easier to leave a room that's unlocked rather than locked.  Bearing that in mind…"

Before she could react, or jump to beat him out, Krendler shut her in, and locked the door from the outside.

*            *            *

Crawford was walking to his car when he saw Dr. Fell standing outside Clarice's residence, and while it was his initial reaction to snap at him, he drew in a breath and maintained his nerves.  When they acknowledged each other with their eyes, he took the prerogative to open the lines of dialogue, careful to avoid spite.  "What are you doing?"

"Waiting."

At the minute, it seemed like a despicable occupation.

"Did you have any trouble on the road?" Fell asked a minute later.

The question made Crawford's stomach crawl.  A blatant innuendo to discover if the hit-and-run was registered.  Beat-around-the-bush.  Arrogant prick.

"Yes."

He hesitated.  "Was she killed?"

"Yes."

"I thought so."  As if it were the most casual occurrence in the world.  He thought so. Quaint. However, before Crawford could reply with repulse, the doctor continued:  "I told Clarice I thought so.  It's better that the shock came all at once.  She stood it pretty well."

It was as if Clarice's reaction was the only thing that mattered.

"We arrived at West Egg by a side road, but this was our destination.  I don't think anyone saw us, but I can't be sure."

By this time, Crawford disliked him so much he didn't find it necessary to tell him he was wrong.

"Who was the woman?"

"Mrs. Pilcher.  Gracie Pilcher.  What happened?"

"I tried to swing the wheel…" And he broke off.

Crawford blinked his understanding and guessed the truth.  "Was Clarice driving?"

"Yes…but, should the matter arise, I'll say I was." Fell turned his gaze back to the house.  "We weren't supposed to be here, though.  I saw Paul arrive home.  Clarice should be out by now…" He sighed.  "I think I should do something."

"Yes…go home.  At least for tonight He won't touch her.  He's not thinking about her."

"I don't trust him, old sport."

"How long are you going to wait?"

"All night, if necessary."

He would, too.  That much was evident.  Crawford said his farewells, admiration for the man growing once more.  As they parted ways, leaving the doctor to his scrutiny of the house, he reflected the persistence that got them here, all here, and wondered if his friend weren't watching over nothing.

*            *            *


	8. Aftershock

There wasn't much Dr Gateway Normal Gateway 2 0 2001-11-01T22:33:00Z 2001-11-01T22:33:00Z 7 4084 23281 194 46 28590 9.2720 

*          *          *

Morning brought an aura of dread with it, and while no heavy drinking occurred the day before, headaches suffered could only be measured to hangovers.  Massive and ugly, bold and unforgiving.  The weight of ambiguous crimes, the actions committed last night reached doorsteps, graced headlines, and captured the attention of anchors all through Manhattan.  Speculation exploded overnight, and before dawn, authorities summarized the accident could have been avoided.  Whoever they captured for the crime would face more than a simple hit-and-run charge.  Some thought the driver was under influence of drugs or alcohol.  Anything to suggest people had more humanity than to simply drive off after hitting a defenseless woman in the middle of the street and sending her to her death.

The public demanded justice, and the police shouted manslaughter.  Still, there were no leads.  Not yet.  It was too soon in the aftermath, but they would not be trapped in a slump for long.

For Crawford, the initial wake into such a day was not difficult, as he had slept very little the previous night.  Tossing back and forth between the grotesque reality of the day and dreams that rivaled the appearance of the morrow.  Toward dawn, he heard the Jaguar pull into Fell's drive, and immediately jumped out of bed and began to dress.  There was an unidentified nagging in his stomach that encouraged him to warn the doctor of something – even if he didn't know what – something that could not wait for the sun.  

The journey across the lawn was tenuous and long, though he had made it more times than he could recollect.  Crawford saw the front door was open, and that Dr. Fell was leaning against a table in the hall, heavy with dejection or sleep.  However, with the knowledge that this was not a fragile man, he opted for the first likelihood.  Something in the doctor's demeanor forewarned he could go days without blinking, much less succumbing to the humanly need of rest.

Dejection.  Clarice still wasn't with him.

"Nothing happened," Fell reported wanly, intentionally ignoring the implied use of greetings.  Today was beyond normality, all could sense, therefore there was no need to introduce topics of discussion with ominous forethought or preamble.  It simply wasn't needed.  "I waited.  Around four this morning, she approached the window and looked out, though not in my direction.  More here, more toward West Egg.  I suppose she thought I had returned home.  I couldn't attract her attention.  It was too dark, I think."  He released a breath, but it didn't carry the sting of defeat as Crawford suspected it might.  "Being in the position of watching from the outside troubles me," continued the doctor a minute later.  "Something occurred in that house last night.  He has done something to her."

The blatant accusation in his voice did little to surprise.  In the light of this new day, Crawford supposed it was easier to blame rather than accept rejection, which he thought was more likely.  Though in watching Clarice the day before, he admitted she seemed true to her word of loving him.  However, with the recent turn of events, and to run off with a man whose reputation preceded him, he thought her sensibility battled with longing and won in the end.

There were other things that Crawford found himself unsure of.  Throughout the prior day, Krendler made references to this alleged criminal past of Fell's, linking him to a name he recognized from the Bureau.  Though he was never directly involved in the case, he found himself on the verge of believing that was where the doctor obtained the air of familiarity.  However, with the evidence that suggested Krendler was correct in that light, there was also the more plausible solution that Arthur Fell and Hannibal Lecter merely resembled one another.  Crawford had no desire to incriminate, and he was too deeply involved in the events of this summer to worry himself with the possibility of aiding a fugitive of the law.

Furthermore, in growing to know Dr. Fell throughout the course of the summer, he concluded on his own terms that this was a man he shared many qualities with.  Less sophisticated, yes, perhaps not as well bred, but they had, oddly, developed a friendship through the basis of Clarice.  Should new evidence sprout to recognition, should Crawford discover that his neighbor was indeed the notorious cannibal, he knew he wanted no part of his apprehension, in the event the untimely act occurred.

He realized making such a revelation within himself was dangerous, but he was personally involved now.  The man he knew was Dr. Fell, not Dr. Lecter.  As long as that distinction remained securely implanted in his brain, there was no chance of rebuttal of trust.

Which was why, he discovered, that coming here this morning struck him as an important task that could not wait for the true outbreak of the day.  Eventually, the authorities would link the car in the accident to his, and once the arrest was made, there was nothing anyone could do to protect him.  If this man was Hannibal the Cannibal, he had to run, fast, with no regards to what or whom he was leaving behind.

"You ought to go away," Crawford advised a minute later.  "It's pretty certain they'll trace your car."

Unaware of the conflicting thoughts stirring within his neighbor, Dr. Fell looked to him and blinked, as though unbelieving such a suggestion was even recommended.  "Go away?" he repeated.  "Go away *now*, old sport?"

"Go to Baltimore for a week, or up to Montreal.  Anywhere."

But the doctor wouldn't consider it.  He couldn't leave Clarice until he knew what she was going to do, what had occurred in that house.  Crawford couldn't help but assume he was grasping at some last hope, but similarly couldn't bear to shake him free.

They spent the morning together, Crawford prodding questions of the past and Fell reluctantly betraying them.  Nothing ever too blunt or informative, but there was an unspoken understanding that assured him he had earned this knowledge, which was the only reason it was released.  Fell was a man to repay debts, no matter how high the stake.  Honesty was traded for deceit, the greatest deceit Crawford had ever committed.  Even if Clarice decided to remain with Krendler, he would live knowing how close he came, how involved he was in breaking up a marriage, and it didn't bother him.

However, there were some details that Fell conveniently forgot to include.  Though Crawford refused to directly ask, perhaps in knowledge of the impending answer, no reference was made to ambiguous former identities or records with the FBI.

Much of what was discussed was an expansion of already known stories, repeated by a better narrator.  However, Crawford learned through this exactly *how* the unlikely two met.  For Clarice, night school in the library, researching patterns of serial killers in her quest for Jame Gumb.  Evidently, they reached for the same book at the same time, quarreled to whom the rights were granted in a conversation Dr. Fell regarded with much amusement, before he asked her what she was researching and offered his assistance in exchange for keeping the book.  After all, he was a psychiatrist who treated patients with patterned behavioral difficulties and homicidal tendencies, and would know of such things.

They continued meeting like that for a long time, not necessarily every night, but often.  Never organized meetings; but sooner or later, she lost her excuses for night school and started to simply arrive in the hopes he would speak with her.  Every encounter, they conceded to fight over some dusty title through the reference section, even if it was something that failed to hold either's true interest.  Time passed and books became of the essence.  Eventually, they were forced to succumb to children's books when titles were used and overused.  As their relationship blossomed and publications dwindled, he began withholding information on the case until she traded bits and pieces of her childhood, of her.  And through conversation and the marketplace-style of exchange, they found themselves in the awkward position of expanding beyond everyday pleasantries and to more extensive, thoughtful topics.

He was intrigued by this, and highly encouraged Fell to continue.

The information released seemed to brighten the doctor's features, and Crawford almost saw the scenes flashing in the pupils of his maroon eyes. 

"I can't describe how surprised I was to discover I loved her, old sport.  I never considered myself a man of such frail human emotions.  After all, I had lived a good part of my life without them.  Not in denial, more or less because I knew no one worthy in this world of such attention.  Greed and corruption of society tore apart many of the decent people I knew.  So while Clarice surprised me, as well as my reaction, I never shied from it or her.  And yet, I never fully grasped the concept, more or less because I didn't know how.  For a while, I hoped she would lose interest and save us both the hassle the future promised.  It was probably for the best, even then."  Dr. Fell paused and breathed slowly.  "But she didn't, because she loved me, too.  I can't say I wish she had, for all this, should we manage through it, will seem like mere child's play compared to what I have already endured.  And worth it, so very worth it.  However, I will not shrink to deny the very obvious fact that life in general would be easier had we never met, had she lost interest like the others of her generation."  Another meaningful pause, and a smile played on his lips.  "However, I wouldn't refuse myself a minute of it.  The dangerous roads often have the most rewarding outcome."

Conspicuously, Dr. Fell didn't mention why he had to leave Clarice in the first place, why Krendler ever entered the picture, why there was a wedding at all.  To that note, all he said was he had to leave for a while, indefinitely, and when he returned, she had married and moved to Long Island.  The rest, from then, was history.

*          *          *

When one o'clock rolled around and he still hadn't received an updated from Clarice, or any news concerning her affairs, Dr. Fell decided without hesitation to investigate the matter personally.  Sensibility overruled patience in the simple matter that he acknowledged time ran short for him, with or without Clarice at his side.  The thought merited serious consideration, as he stood here, now, so close he could taste the flavor of his goal, and yet five seconds of lapse could crumple five years of work.

There was one thing he knew.  He wouldn't give her up without a fight.  Earlier that day, chatting with Crawford, Dr. Fell realized his neighbor had lost faith that Clarice still wanted apart of this, that she decided to remain with Krendler after all.  Had he not heard her voice her decision with such steadfast conviction the moments directly following the unfortunate collusion, he conceded to admit the matter would similarly hold his concern.  After all, Clarice wasn't nor had ever been predictable to him.  The roots of her morality were strongly implanted, however, with the realizations she presented him, he knew one incident could not take that away.

As it was, he believed under such conditions she would leave Krendler anyway, even if it wasn't for him.

Dr. Fell didn't so much as look to the Jaguar as he deliberated which vehicle to take.  In the course of the next few hours, he knew he would have to dispose of the car, or perform some radical surgery to make it unidentifiable to the authorities.  Though he didn't anticipate remaining here too much longer, he also knew not to plan for the future, as life had a nasty habit of changing on a whim.

The choice, in the end, was not difficult.  It had been a while since he indulged himself in a drive in his Rolls-Royce, discarding it usually for the Jaguar or the Bentley.  Style, however, was hardly the motive for this visit.  In study of Krendler's rather intrusive character, he knew not to perform any tasks that required too much reading into.

Perhaps it would leave more of an impression if he drove the Jaguar.  The sadistic, dangerous thought made him smile, even if the doctor knew better.

The Krendler-Starling residence was glum as he pulled into the drive.  Having prepared for any sort of encounter, Fell approached the closed front door with steady patience, eyes on the upper window he identified as Clarice's room every minute.  He was dressed in one of his finest suits, a deceptive Harpy lodged safely up his right sleeve.  Considering the fuss circulating Gracie Pilcher's death, he hoped to avoid more spilt blood.  

However, for the sake of her salvation, he was willing to sacrifice anything.  Fell speculated he would have killed Krendler long ago, should the circumstances fall under a separate category.  He had spent too much time building up the trust and admiration in his alias name to tarnish it so quickly, even with the rumors that circulated, that came too close for comfort.  Though he never shied from public image, never denied the accusations, even those that were hideously untrue.  The guilty are always the quickest to deny misdemeanor, and perversely, Fell knew his failure to defensively protect his name was what saved it for so long.

Until now.

Now that a woman was dead.  

A life he hadn't known, hadn't planned on taking, hadn't taken, if he wished to be overly technical.  However, he didn't blame Clarice.  The thought never occurred to him.  

There would be plenty of time for such scrutiny later.  Now, Dr. Fell delicately manipulated the doorbell, stood back and held his breath until it opened.  As he suspected, Krendler's face greeted him.  Stormy, unforgiving eyes sheathed beneath layers of cold blue.  Expressionless, Fell failed to reveal disconcerted reaction.  This man wasn't very experienced in staring people down, he knew.

He let a few seconds of silence pass before nodding his head in gentlemanly acknowledgement.  "Good afternoon, Mr. Krendler," he said conversationally.  "I am here to see Clarice.  Is she available?"

Krendler sneered and shook his head.  "Get out of here.  Turn around and get out!  Go back to your…" He stretched to see past him.  "Back to your…Rolls-Royce…" Glancing back, his eyes grew darker.  "Fucking coward!  Bring over that Jag!  Bring it over!  It's stained with her blood, isn't it?  You couldn't bring it out because it's stained with Gracie's blood!"

"Mr. Krendler…let me see Clarice, please."

Violently, he shook his head in rebuttal.  "No!  She doesn't want you.  She knows what you are."

Studiously, Dr. Fell's head tilted, his pulse exhilarating slightly with the threat of truth, but he read the lie behind Krendler's eyes before the words sank to believability.  Taking a calm breath, he offered, "I will leave and never bother you again, should I hear Clarice say that from her own lips.  She requires no messenger.  If this is her resolution, she must have the courage to voice it herself."

"She is my wife!" Krendler shrilled.  "Her words are mine, and I tell you she wants nothing to do with you!  She saw you kill last night, mercilessly.  How is she to know she's not next?  Whatever you two were planning is over now, by the words of her own mouth. Your presumptuous flirtation is over."

Fell knew it was a lie, and not simply for the incorrect reference to the proceedings of the night before, but also for the fear in the man's eyes.  Fear at his capabilities, fear that he wouldn't turn away, fear what he would do.

Control begged to be broken, begged him to slice Krendler's throat open, here and now, yet Fell exercised himself to restraint.  "I will ask you civilly one final time," he remarked.  "Let me see Clarice."

"Get out!"

With that, he allowed the last strain of his stamina break.  The Harpy slid into view, and Krendler had no time to reflect his surprise before he was shoved against the door, blade poised under his throat, and meeting the menacing glare of dangerous maroon eyes.

"What have you done to her?" Fell demanded, enforcing his threat more with an emphasis on his voice rather than his weapon.

The terror that streaked through Krendler's eyes was counterpoint only to his tone as he yelped, "Frank!" into the foyer.  Raising a sardonic brow, the doctor pressed forward at the denial of his request and prepared to end the pathetic whelp's life when the butler summoned, Frank, appeared with phone in hand.  Evidently, this was a practiced exercise.

"He'll call the police," Krendler warned.  "He'll call the police and tell them where Hannibal the Cannibal lives.  Let me go, or the next time you see Clarice, it'll be through glass."

At first, the threat went unacknowledged.  Fell pressed forward with no restraint, eyes ablaze, blade begging to drive into skin.  However, after a few seconds, he retreated for he knew the man was not bluffing.  This oaf's blood was not worth the price of freedom, or to never see Clarice again.  There were other methods.

The blade scratched skin with the hint of warning, but retracted from sight just the same.  Emitting a breath, Dr. Fell stepped back and allowed Krendler to fall harshly against the door.  In the aftereffects of the attack, he rasped for breath but refused to let his warning die with the hint of evasion.  

"Get out of here!"  Krendler ordered.  "Get out!"

"For the sake of your misguidance, Paul, I will," Dr. Fell accredited, stepping back further still.  "But, a word of warning…you claim to be her husband, yet you foolishly assume that locks and chains will keep her captured and under your so-called power.  I could see that upon first acquaintance.  Your ignorance could not be lifted after five years.  I would pity you, should I find myself capable of such a mundane disposition.  You can't hold her forever, even to protect yourself."  

"Get out!  Get out and never come back!"

"That I cannot promise you," he said regretfully, and before Krendler could reply, Dr. Fell was gone, newly inspired and similarly discouraged.

When he looked up to Clarice's room, still no one was there.

*          *          *

By the reliable ventilation system, Clarice could hear everything that occurred downstairs.  Upon hearing Lecter's voice, she felt a rush of hope, knowing he had come for her.  The room at which she was currently stationed didn't allow an adequate view, but when she heard a visitor pull into their drive, she knew it had to be him.

The argument below made her flush.  Though Krendler's voice was shrilly, she was presented with no more difficulty in dissecting the message the doctor conveyed.  He was there to help, she knew, but she likewise understood with solemn resolution the difficulty of the situation.  

The faith Lecter placed in her ability to manage, with or without his assistance, made her flush both with pride and newfound encouragement to break free.  

As her temporary residence was nothing more than a guest room, she lacked the bare essentials that might not otherwise be denied.  Dressers full of clothing, a bed, a lamp, and nothing more.  She might have climbed out the window if it offered a ledge, or something on which to stable herself.  

Sooner or later, Krendler had to give her something to eat.  The spontaneity of her sudden imprisonment conceded her to acknowledge he hadn't thoroughly thought the process through.  Unless he wanted to starve her to death, which accomplished little more than that which he condemned, he had to bring her supper soon.

Of course, she didn't care to credit him with that much insight into the blatant functions of human beings.  

Though discouraged, Clarice was glad when Lecter left.  While she had every faith that Krendler and their butler proposed no threat to the doctor's strength, she couldn't afford for the authorities to be directly informed, even contacted.  Not now.  Not a day after Gracie's death.

Especially if Lecter killed Krendler, or more than Krendler, to get to her.  Gracie's blood was on her hands, not his, and she would not allow him to be captured for the sake of protecting her reputation.  Should the issue arise, should anyone directly suspect him…

She hoped to be far from this house before anyone linked the Jaguar to him.  There was some question in her mind why Krendler refrained from reporting it to the authorities before she recalled Lecter's reference to her husband's similar indiscretions that went beyond breaking martial vows.  Perhaps he feared a similar investigation on business affairs.  It was her luck and Krendler's misfortune that he didn't realize his word would be trusted as long as he did nothing to incriminate himself.

It was perhaps an hour after Lecter took his leave that Clarice heard another vehicle in the drive.  Her heart leapt in her chest, and as she bolted to press her ear to the vent, she felt her anxiousness fall, replaced by something she couldn't identify.  

It wasn't the doctor.  The voice belonged to man she hadn't seen in years.

Noble Pilcher.

*          *          *

Information was tossed in a variety of shouts and slanders.  Evidently, Pilcher believed Krendler to be the owner of the Jaguar.  After all, what else was there to suggest?  It was only the day before that he had offered to sell him the car.  Unlike Fell, his primary motive was not discreet, or hidden up sleeves.  The shotgun in his arms was self-explanatory, so much to the point along with the streak of madness in his eyes that Krendler screamed at Frank to place the phone back on the hook.

Pilcher claimed he knew all about it.  The explicit details of the affair came to his realization once she reacted to the Jaguar's approach the night before.  Before she ran into the street, she insisted her lover was coming to pick her up.  It left little to piece together.

Naturally, Krendler denied these accusations.  He even invited Pilcher to investigate the garages and see if he identified the guilty car.  In the midst of his screaming fit, the man would hear nothing of it.  Instead, he waved his gun and insisted he would shoot if answers were denied.

"Explain this!" he demanded, throwing a dog leash in Krendler's direction.  

"What!"

"We don't have a dog, Paul!  Whoever bought her this bought her a dog!"

"Are you sure it was hers?"

"She showed it to me!  She said *he* bought it for her, whoever *he* was."  Pilcher pressed forward with the shotgun.  "It was your car she ran for.  You killed her.  You killed my Gracie!"

"That wasn't my car!"  Krendler insisted.  "She *knew* my car, both of you do.  I come by enough.  Besides, she couldn't see if it was me.  I borrowed that car from the people I was meeting in town."

"You tried to sell it to me!"

Krendler looked down sharply, caught in the awkward position of explaining the questionable truth.  The story was radical enough to be a lie, which made Pilcher's inability to believe all the more insufferable.  "I just found out the owner was sleeping with my wife," he excused.  "Yours, too, probably.  We traded cars and went into town."

At that, Pilcher slowly started to defuse.  "Who?"

"Arthur Fell!  He lives across the bay at West Egg."  Krendler's eyes widened when he saw he had reached him.  "Yes, yes, go see!  He has the Jaguar, I'll bet you!  He was over here earlier, but he wasn't driving it.  It has her blood all over it, I'll bet.  Go see!  Go see!"

As Pilcher's confused expression transformed once more to anger, Krendler felt some pang of satisfaction.  Trusting all went well, the man would only need visual verification of the bloodstained car before blowing the bastard away.  When bewildered widower turned to confirm this for himself, it took all his self-control not to leap into the air like a drunk leprechaun and click his heels together.

It was all a matter of time now.  Soon, his trouble with Fell would be over.  Only after the doctor's death would he deal with his wife's separate dealings.  Beforehand, though, nothing could persuade him to touch a hair on her head.  Not while he was alive.

*          *          *

Dr. Fell sat beside the pool of the great manor, watching the unaffected waters ripple in accordance to wind changes.  In a few days, he would have to winterize all summer luxuries.  The pool this year had gone unused, though it was there more as an accessory to the house.  Today, he took peace in watching it, even as his eyes begged to turn in the direction of the bay.

Normally, his exercised patience won over primal instinct, but Fell acknowledged, sitting here in the blessed silence, that his concern for Clarice's well-being broke the tendency to school his stone façade.  However, he was content to let Krendler believe he was in the position of power.  The more secure the man became, the better off the situation.

In visiting Krendler earlier, Fell concluded several things.  Firstly, he wouldn't hurt Clarice until he felt content in the falsified stature as man of the house once more.  Judging the look in his eyes, he was definitely experiencing violent mood swings, perhaps out of emotional reactions to Gracie's death that he hadn't admitted into existence.  People like Krendler in that position were dangerous, more for their predictability.  Fell knew that if he had to flee the country without Clarice with him, he left her susceptible to whatever the man might do.

Secondly, all prior loose ends were cleanly tied.  The doctor knew from the encounter that Krendler had restrained his wife in some manner, physically preventing her from leaving the house.

Lastly, Fell knew, even with the dangers it presented, that he could not leave without knowing she was at the very least all right.  He preferred not to leave until he had her out of the house, but if it came down to it, continued freedom was more important at this time.  There was little he could do to help her behind bars.

Crawford would look after her, if worse came to worse.

The sun stretched across the sky and began its descent into twilight.  Fell remained stationary at the pool, having no grasp on time.  It wasn't until he heard the faintest tapping of a footstep inside the manor that he stirred to the present.  There it was again.  A few ratta-ta-taps through the interior, someone trying to remain silent.

It wasn't Crawford.  He knew for the lack of a distinctive smell.  Nor was it Krendler, much to his dismay.  This scent was different, groggy, slightly unclean.  It perplexed him for a few seconds, as there was no one to identify it with.

That was, until, he smelled gasoline.  Gasoline on flesh had a distinctive aroma that he doubted many could classify.  This was different than a man pouring gasoline with the intention of igniting the place into flames.  This was a man who worked around it.  A man who did it for a living.

A man like Noble Pilcher.

After he knew who was in his house, picking up separate details took little effort.  Within ten seconds, Fell knew he carried a shotgun and that he intended to use it.  Shoot to kill.  

However, he also knew the first rule of the game, and that was never hunt the animal on his home terrain.  As Pilcher misguidedly explored the parlors and living areas, Dr. Fell maneuvered with ease until he found his crossbow.  Then, making no sound as he moved, he found himself overlooking the pit into the lounge.  The view was too opportune to scrutinize.  Not concerned with his perfect accuracy in aim, Fell fired a single shot and watched without reaction as an oblivious Noble Pilcher found himself with a head full of arrow.  A flash of white and red, and he collapsed.  

Dr. Fell stood with indifference for a few minutes.  It didn't take long to speculate what had occurred.  The switched cars yesterday seemed almost too opportune, as though Krendler planned it that way.  

And now there was another dead, even if it was in the name of self-defense.  Fell sighed heavily, though he knew without consideration what this meant.  Krendler was going to great extents, desperation, even if twenty-four hours had not passed.  

That led him to one inevitable conclusion.  He had to get Clarice out of that house, and he had to do it now.

*          *          *


	9. Finale

There wasn't much Dr Gateway Normal Gateway 2 1 2001-11-01T22:33:00Z 2001-11-01T22:33:00Z 11 3606 20556 171 41 25244 9.2720 

There wasn't much Dr. Fell wished to take with him.  A house full of things, objects, replaceables…there were a few Rembrandts he stored, a bottle or so of his finest wine, but everything else lacked the personal touch, and remained discarded on shelves or cabinets.  Perhaps fifteen minutes was spent in scrutiny of the manor after he cleaned up the mess Pilcher made on his Persian rugs.  The body itself found a resting place in the pool.  In the unlikely circumstance of facing complete failure in his attempt to get Clarice out of the house, he would cover it up with the rest of the winterization.  

However much he was tempted to do so now, Dr. Fell schooled himself to patience and sensibility.  

Fell hesitated only to consider what he might bring to persuade Krendler to listen to reason.  However, with the blood of Pilcher staining his hands, he acknowledged his immediate danger already.  Eventually, quicker because of Gracie's death, the disappearance of her husband would be reported.  And as swiftly as he could, Krendler would leap at the opportunity to incriminate the last man who saw him alive.

Killing was inevitable, and while he accepted this, it was with some irony that such links came with reluctance.  Five years had successfully worn the last of his patience, yet also enhanced his already superhuman durability.  Though to reinforce the distance from Clarice would pain him, he likewise knew things were different now.  She knew to wait for him; she knew he would come back for her.

However, Fell did not anticipate encountering much difficulty with Krendler.  The man was spineless, shying behind doors and locks.  Petty threats were his forte, and once he saw they no longer carried leverage, his stamina would break.

Standard case.  

Before leaving the Fell Manor, the doctor traced the trail between the lawns of the two houses, perhaps for the first time since Crawford orchestrated the reunion between himself and Clarice.  Though he had not made the journey nearly as often as his neighbor had, he found himself coursed with an air of familiarity, stuck in one of those earlier summer days.  From here, the view of her dock was vibrant, perhaps even more so than his.  Dr. Fell indulged in a few seconds to gaze across the bay, but quickly turned his attention back to the task.

Crawford was on his porch, sipping coffee.  When he realized he had company, he turned with some surprise.  To his memory, Fell had only visited once before, and that was with a distinct motive in mind.  If ever additional attention was desired, they were only separated by a phone call.  His intentions tonight carried an ambiguous aura. 

"Good evening, Jack," greeted the doctor courteously.

"Evening?  Not quite."

"Close enough for my tastes."  Fell turned to follow his gaze once more across the bay, though his eyes lingered from the green light that flickered mockingly.  "There are some things you should know," he said after a minute, deciding against a hefty preface.  In the past few weeks, Crawford proved himself a reliable individual, perhaps one of the only good-to-honest friends he made since his incarceration.  It seemed odd; a friendship with this man when it seemed they should be enemies.  Perhaps at another time in another place, but not now.  Now, he offered as much of the truth as he could without endangering either of them, if that was even possible anymore.  

"Things?" Crawford replied innocently, shifting slightly to gaze at him, which he did not gratify with a returned look.  "All right.  What things?"

"Firstly, I visited the Krendler residence today, after our chat," he stated.  "I know several things now.  Things you perhaps will not believe.  However, before I begin, I want to let you know how grateful I am to have met you this summer, Jack.  Your assistance has not gone unnoticed, and I thank you for everything you have done.  I know I was not the easiest person to assist, if only for my spontaneous requests."  At this, he turned to hold Crawford's gaze and shook his head when he saw he wanted to speak.  "Please, let me continue.  You never asked where I came from, never mentioned the gossip or rumors, unless, of course, I asked it of you.  You politely refused to make a spectacle out of an odd situation.  I thank you for your courtesy and consideration."

There was a short silence in which he allowed him to gather his thoughts and summon some form of reply.  "Dr. Fell…" Crawford began, eyes wide with bewilderment at his sudden onslaught of praise, hyphenated as it was.  "It…I really…it was no problem."

The doctor smiled.  "I know better than that.  It was plenty of trouble, but it has passed now, and I will not dwell.  Just know you have my thanks, and promise of assistance if ever you need it."  He took a breath in preparation for what he had to tell him.  "Now, I have reason to believe that Paul Krendler has done something to restrain Clarice in one of the upper rooms.  He refused to let me see her, even speak with her to confirm any sort of altered decision."

"Is that so surprising?" Crawford retorted cynically.  "After all, you two did announce you were eloping yesterday.  *And* he lost his mistress."

"Yes, I took that into account.  However, I have a knack for detecting when I am being lied to.  Furthermore, I know Clarice would have at least attempted to tell me herself, should these accusations be true."  Dr. Fell chuckled lightly.  "He suggested she considered me a monster for the brutality of seizing Gracie's life.  Ignorance is a bliss, I suppose."

Without glancing to Crawford to confirm his visual realization, Fell allowed his eyes to fall on the green light at the end of her dock, and he knew time for action was nearing.  "As a result, Mr. Krendler decided to send me a very misguided Noble Pilcher, thirsty for revenge."

"Noble was at your house?"

At that, Fell turned and locked eyes again, holding his voice definitively a single word.  "Was."

A dead silence as Crawford regarded him with some astonishment, though there was also a lack of surprise.  "You mean he's…?"

"He arrived with a shotgun.  I don't believe it was his intention to talk civilly."

"But you…?"

"Don't assume, Jack."  And he swiftly maneuvered to another matter.  "Such has convinced me to get her out of that house, no matter the cost.  I came here to say goodbye, for chances are, you will not be hearing from me for a while.  Also, should I be unsuccessful, I would like your assurances that you will watch after her."

"Watch after her?"

"I do not anticipate encountering much trouble, nevertheless, I must be prepared." Growing weary of the time, Fell glanced in the direction of his drive.  "I should leave now.  I've told you too much as it is.  Goodbye, Jack.  Thank you."

Obviously wanting to say more, Crawford drew in a breath, coaxed another glance from the doctor, then released with a wan smile with a nod.  "Goodbye, Dr. Fell.  It's been a pleasure."

The farewell was short and not overdramatic, both presented with the knowledge they would most likely never see the other again, despite promises made to compensate for services.  As Dr. Fell moved away, he felt his neighbor's eyes on his back, and likewise knew it was not in disapproval.  Of the few people he could respect in this world, the very few, Crawford was one of them.

But now was not the time to dwell.  There were more important matters to address.

*            *            *

Dr. Fell was particularly grateful when Krendler neglected to answer the door.  Instead, he was greeted by the butler, Frank, whose eyes widened briefly in recognition.  Before he could react, Fell let his Harpy slide out of his right arm sleeve, precisely where he had it stored before, and swiftly tore a bloody swipe across his throat.  Smoothly, he stepped over the man as he fell and closed the door behind him.  

The coast was deviously clear, and while he didn't trust Krendler not to sneak behind him with a baseball bat or some mediocre weapon that would similarly fail to put his reputation as a decent human being at stake, Dr. Fell refused to settle in the entry.  Instead, he headed upstairs and stopped at the landing.

There was a hallway and every door was closed.  Fell frowned and listened for something to betray itself, discouraged when his usually superb hearing failed him.  

Softly, though audibly, he drew in a breath and released her name, knowing that she would hear him if she were anywhere in the proximity.  "Clarice."

Much to his joy, there was an immediate reaction.  From the secondary guest room, not the master bedroom nor the chamber he suspected she had occupied for the past five years of her marital relationship, came a very sharp, pronounced tapping.  "Here!" she screamed, not modest with the volume of her voice.  "I'm in here!"

Quickly covering the space between himself and the door, Fell tried the knob, though already knowing how far he would get with it.  As he considered, he spoke, if only to ease her.  "Where is he?" he asked, voice deliberately calm.  

"I don't know!" Clarice declared in return.  "Oh God, I was so worried.  I heard…did Noble come by?  Did he…?"

"Hmm…yes," Fell replied, nearly decided to simply kick the door open.  By this time, he was eager just to see her face, her liberated face, and get her out of here.  Broken locks meant nothing to him.  "With a shotgun."

"Where is he?  Did he follow you over here?"

"I rather doubt it."

There was an uncomfortable pause on the other side of the door, and while he wasn't in the position to see, he knew immediately her concern.  Without voicing recognition, he waited patiently for the accusatory, "You killed him, didn't you?"

"For means of survival, Clarice, yes I did."  There was no shame in his tone, and he suspected that wasn't what she was looking for.  "I also killed your butler.  And, should I find your darling husband…well…you can guess his fate."  Without awaiting her reply, Fell allowed the last of his patience to slip, uncharacteristically succumbing to the desire to kick the door open.  A small chunk of wood skated into the hall as the frame shook and gave in, swinging open to reveal her face.  Her beautiful, tense, and very reassured face.  Betraying his own relief, Dr. Fell waited for her reaction, knowing honesty was the foremost policy in this relationship.  Without it, they couldn't function on attraction.

When he saw what he needed to see, leaving perhaps a five second gap between dialogue, he swept inside, taking her in his massive embrace.  She squeezed back tightly, comforting him of her conviction, should anything be in question.  

"I don't think I've ever been happier to see you," she decided with a sigh.

"Never ever?" he teased, however mutual the feeling was.  

"Trust me."

They were still a beat after that, trusting each other's eyes for what couldn't be said.  After unhurried seconds, their lips met in blessed hope, as well as relief that the predominantly difficult part was over.  The taste was exploratory though brief, love and more than loved conveyed by eager mouths.  

The moment, of course, couldn't possibly last long.  Long before the man spoke, Fell smelled his intrusive aroma and detected disastrously delicate footsteps.  Thus, when Krendler took a swing at his head with a baseball bat, he was beyond prepared.  Despite Clarice's scream of warning, he whirled around and caught the assault in mid-air.  Krendler, taken aback, found quite quickly he was not in the position of strength, and gasped his terror as the bat was yanked from his grasp.

Clarice instinctively stepped away from the two as Fell turned him violently.  Then Krendler's back was to the window, the large window on the far side of the room.  Bat discarded and now in his wife's grasp, he watched the Harpy stained with Frank's blood as it made its way to comfortably rest against his jugular.  Fell's free arm went to rest against the glass, his eyes capturing Krendler's and smiling satisfactorily to see his fear.

"Now then," the doctor said conversationally, "that wasn't very nice, was it?"  There was no immediate response, just the horrified gaze of a man who knew he was seriously…

Fucked.

The silence received merited a wider smile.  A blind man could see the malevolence of his intentions gleaming in maroon pupils. "I can't understand why you feel short of words, Mr. Krendler," he continued a minute later.  "After all, your speech did not seem so constricted when last we spoke."

Pleadingly, Krendler ignored the statement and shot a fearful glance to Clarice.  "Don't let him do this!"

"Please, Paul, you brought this on yourself," Fell observed, pressing the Harpy further into his skin, though not deep enough to draw blood.  "Leave her out of this."

"Clarice!" he begged, pointedly ignoring the request.  "Don't let him do this!  He killed Frank, Gracie, probably Pilcher…God knows what he'll do to you—"

At that, the doctor hummed his amusement but didn't comment.  Clarice beat him to the punch.  "Paul, for Christ's sake, shut the fuck up.  Han…Arthur didn't kill Gracie.  He wasn't driving that car."

The room fell still as his eyes went from terrified to curious.  Perking an interested though conscious brow, Krendler divided his attention between her and Fell as he stuttered, "Oh?  Is that a fact?"  

"Dipshit.  I was driving."

The silence that followed stank of shock and disbelief.  Dr. Fell used his distraction to move the Harpy from his throat, tapping his cheek slightly in an attempt to bring him back to self-awareness.  "There, there," he sneered in a mock of condolence.  "No need to forget yourself, Mr. Krendler.  Rest assured, you will be joining her soon.

"Any suggestions, hmmm?  I could slit your throat.  Nice, quick, convenient, given our position.  However, I do hate redundancy, and I am a strong supporter of the old institution that suggests the punishment should fit the crime."  Dr. Fell smiled.  "I could make you smile, Paul.  A nice big smile.  From ear…" Slowly, he drew the Harpy from one side of his face to the other, blade whispering its threat over moist skin.  "…to ear.  I suppose I could filet your innards, but you see, I don't believe putting so much consideration into a man's demise, especially one such as yourself, unless there is some ulterior motive.  I never shy from symbolism. So Paul, not that I will necessarily adhere to your input, but I don't mind a proposition or two.  Do you have any personal preference?  Something reasonable, really.  For instance, I don't exactly have time to execute a successful Chinese Water Torture."    

"You could let me go…" Krendler pleaded, eyes large as he sensed the proximity of what was to come, even if he didn't know exactly what to expect.

There was a mocking chuckle in reply.  "Now why would I want to do that, Paul?  I killed poor Frank for answering the door, Pilcher for breaking into my home.  They performed entirely trivial, perhaps misguided tasks.  You, however, have intentionally pressed my good graces to the last and final straw.  In doing so, you willingly sealed your fate.  I cannot accept ignorance as a suitable excuse to what you have forced your wife, and I say that hesitantly, to endure.  You scream robbery, and yet you are a thief as well."  Dr. Fell's eyes shone with excitement.  Slowly, he moved his Harpy hand to the window, boxing Krendler in and tapping the glass lightly with the tip of the blade.  "The question is, what is appropriate for a man such as yourself? Poor Pilcher I could respect, perhaps offer sympathy.  Your dear butler, Frank, even held an ode of esteem.  Though I am not one to judge, I must say I believe they went out with style.  You, on the other hand…" As though lost in consideration, Fell drew back, eyes burning maliciously into his.  "You are simply not worth the effort."  

With torturous leisure, Fell's arms fell limply to his sides, teasing a sway of indecision, granting him time to run, should he decide on a chase.  The room grew silent once more with the absence of his voice, silent and uncomfortable.  Tension teetered and stretched, beads of perspiration trickling down Krendler's forehead and face. 

Clarice, motionless beside the bed, watched with growing interest, aware of her heart cadencing in anticipation. 

Given the silence that consumed them for those long minutes, what followed was loud and obnoxious, and took everyone save Fell by surprise.  With sudden velocity and strength, the doctor's arms shoved forward to the window, shattering it without much effort, as though punching in a storm-door screen.  Krendler barely had time to scream his shock.  He disappeared in a blur of broken glass and framework, tumbling out of sight.

There was a thud from below, and the shrill of his voice abruptly stopped.   

Fell took a minute to gaze over the side, his eyes lingering in appreciation.  The picture below was nothing overdramatic, which he liked.  A man, visibly dead, covered in shards of broken window, twisted to lie in his own misery.

However, the doctor did not consider him for long.  After a minute or two of satisfied inspection, he turned to look at Clarice, whose gaze was locked fiercely on the place the glass had vanished.  Her eyes were clouded with disbelief.

For the briefest second, Fell was unsure if she was disconcerted, having witnessed a murder.  But only a second.  It took very little to dissect the emotion bursting in her pupils.  She was not in disbelief because he was dead; she was shocked it was over.  

Over.

"Clarice?"

As he hoped, his voice coaxed her attention from the nonexistent window.  When he had her eyes, he continued.  "Clarice…it's over."

They shared a glance for a few seconds before hurriedly moving together, kissing with frenzy and reassurance.  Dr. Fell was prepared when she burst into tears.  Swiftly, he took her in his embrace once more.  As her frame broke into small, relentless quivers, he soothed her, encouraged her to recline on his shoulder, and promised everything would be all right from now on.  

*            *            *

In reference to the crashing sound Krendler's falling form produced, a neighbor took the liberty of phoning for the police.  Dusk was setting when the authorities arrived.  The case was almost dismissed as an accident, as no prints were found on the body.  However, that theory lost its value when the baseball bat was discovered under the bed, and a more extensive search that produced Frank's body.  

Given the events of the night before, the double murder was immediately linked by the press to Gracie's death.

From West Egg, where the authorities had not yet extended their investigation, Fell and Crawford stood outside, watching the flashing lights.  Not once did the doctor's eyes dwindle on the green light of the bay, for Clarice was here now, and they were minutes away from departure.  

They were at Crawford's place.  Though no one came knocking on the Fell Manor, the chance was too great.  Clarice said her goodbyes and again thanked her cousin for all his assistance.  It was warmly received and reciprocated.  

The sun was setting.  Crawford offered Fell one last drink, and they enjoyed it together, both steadily aware of the time, however, both correspondingly knowing this was the last time they would have together.  Even with their meeting earlier that day, the end hadn't seemed quite so close.  There had to be an epilogue, a finale to their friendship.  This arrangement had more closure.

"Where will you go?" Crawford asked softly, eyes not moving from the display across the bay.

There was nothing at first.  Dr. Fell tossed him a brief glance, shrugged and took a long sip of his wine.  "I don't know.  Overseas, most likely.  Europe.  Clarice says she has always wanted to visit Italy.  I believe she will like it there."  A second pause, and their eyes met.  "We can't stay here, old sport.  And contact for a while will be dangerous, otherwise I would encourage you to keep in touch."

"I know," Crawford replied with a sigh.  "It just seems…I can't believe it's over."

At that, Fell grinned.  "You have no idea." A few more minutes of silence as he finished his drink and admired the scenery.  "I will miss it here.  The quiet, peaceful rural life.  Away from the city scene." His neighbor hummed his agreement and similarly finished his drink.  

"I will miss your parties," Crawford offered.

The doctor's grin broadened.  "I won't.  Ghastly things."  A sigh.  "Well, I think it's about time we made the off, don't you agree?"

"Yes.  They'll make their way over here eventually."

"Don't be afraid to tell them anything.  You won't incriminate us."

Skeptically, Crawford arched a brow.  "Ye of little faith."

There was an appreciative chuckle.  "Touché."  They turned instinctively to face each other, shook hands one last time, and smiled.  

"Farewell, then?" the doctor asked a minute later.

"Let me see you off."

Crawford followed him down to the car.  The Rolls-Royce and Jaguar were stored safely in Fell's garage, as he decided it was best to simply let his horrendous secret be discovered.  As he slipped into the driver's seat, he rolled down the window to speak once more.    

"I nearly forgot.  I prepared this for you," he announced, handing over a small container, capped with a blue lid.  It looked domestic and whimsical, provoking a short laugh from Crawford. The doctor continued: "I was going to hold an extravagant dinner later this week, however, life is spontaneous and likes to present issues when it is most inconvenient."

Studying the tubberwear curiously, Crawford arched both brows.  "What is it?"

"Oh, you'll see.  My assurances, it's to die for."

"Ah, well then.  I'll trust your judgment.  Thanks."

Fell smiled.  "Goodbye, Jack."

"Goodbye, Dr. Fell."

"Goodbye, Jack!" Clarice called pleasantly from the passenger seat.

Smiling, Crawford leaned closer to wave to his cousin.  "Bye, Clarice.  I wish you both the best."

"Thanks," she replied sincerely.  "That means a lot to me."

They could potentially extend their farewell for hours, trading thanks and accepting gratitude.  However, time ran short, and all recognized this.  When Fell rolled up his window, leaving the goodbyes at an awkward standstill, Crawford instinctively stood back, patting the hood of the car as sped off, leaving him to collect the dust of their getaway.

Though they promised to keep in touch, eventually write and get together, he knew he would never see either of them again.  The prospect didn't bother him; rather, he was happy they both finally had what they wanted.  He could never tell his story, never share how he assisted these two star-crossed lovers to untangle their fate and reach each other.  Not with the bloodshed in the past few days.  In a matter of seconds, the love of two people turned from a domestic issue to national news.  Once they discovered Fell's Jaguar, it was only a matter of time before the story pieced together.

But they were away now, safe, and together.

With a sigh, Crawford glanced to the container in his grasp.  He would prepare whatever was inside tonight before it spoiled and toast a glass to absent friends. His friends now, soon to be fugitives of the law. As his hands pried the lid open, Crawford's eyes danced to the scene against the bay.  Never again would it look the same, the lack of a single green light flickering for the hopes of his neighbor that time could reverse itself.  That he might defeat all logic and get that second chance many only aspire to.

A teacup shattered on the floor had pieced itself together.  What liberation and hope did that promise the future?

The lid opened with a quaint pop, and Crawford's eyes lingered a minute longer before traveling downward.  There was a generous slab of meat with an index card sitting on top.  Smiling to himself at Fell's presumptions, he lifted it to the light from his porch, expecting directions for the cooking procedure or what-have-you, something entirely predictable for the doctor to consider.  

In elegant script, though, the card read:

_Jack,_

_Just a token of my esteem.  I hope you enjoy it.  _

_Thank you for the wine._

_                                                            Regards,_

_                                                                        Hannibal Lecter, MD_

With sudden sharpness, Crawford looked up.  A tightening constricted in his chest, his eyes alight with realization.  So it was true.  It was all true.  Despite his earlier revelation, he felt the taste of knowledge and found its flavor disagreeable.  Hannibal the Cannibal.  Dr. Fell.  His neighbor. 

 As he dropped the container in disgust, or perhaps fear of what he held, Crawford glanced down the street where the Bentley disappeared, half-expecting to see the doctor there, laughing at his play.

The road, however, was empty.  In the twilight of evening, a small cloud of dust collected in the absence of passing vehicles, but nothing more.  

FIN


End file.
